


I’d Always Choose You

by huffinglepuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Black Hermione Granger, Bonding, Cliffhangers, Complete, Death Eaters, F/M, Forced Proximity, Good Severus Snape, Graphic Violence, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry is tortured, Heavy Angst, Hogwarts Seventh Year, M/M, Magical Bond, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Not Epilogue Compliant, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Torture, bc i changed his backstory lmao, i hate Dumbledore and killed him at my earliest convenience, its not fun, lucius is a horrible person full stop, narcissa is good, voldy is a bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 79,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24681262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huffinglepuff/pseuds/huffinglepuff
Summary: After the curse in Dumbledore’s hand reacted badly with the potion in the cave, Harry was captured by Voldemort and taken to Malfoy Manor.A retelling of the Deathly Hallows if the events at the end of the Half Blood Prince went a little differently.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Past Remus Lupin/Sirius Black
Comments: 118
Kudos: 322





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god I’ve been so excited to write this it’s unreal. I’m going to go straight off the bat and say there is probably going to be a lot of triggers, including but not limited to: character deaths, suicidal thoughts, and torture. I will try to include trigger warnings at the start of each chapter - for example this one has a character death, and some torture, but if I miss any please leave a comment.
> 
> This is also the first fic I’m writing with an actual plot, so...that’ll be fun.
> 
> A huge thanks to [etymolodrarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etymolodrarry) for proof reading and editing ❤️
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! :)

A flash of silver, and glistening droplets of blood sprayed across the seemingly impenetrable cave face. A bright white light shone across what Harry assumed would be the outline of a door, but Harry fell to his knees, clutching his head as his scar burned.

Suddenly, he was somewhere else. Fear, and panic threatened to overwhelm him — _how had Dumbledore found out?_ He’d been so _careful_ \- He cast a _crucio_ at his nearest follower, a man with mousy brown hair, and hurried out of the room, his dark robes swishing behind him as he cursed Lucius for the anti-apparation wards surrounding the manor. 

Harry pulled back into his own mind, looking into concerned, blue eyes. “H–he knows. We need to hurry.”

“Of course, Harry.” Dumbledore hauled Harry to his feet, dragging him to the bank of a pond that had been hidden behind the door. He stuck his hand out over the water, a chain appearing. “Harry, would you mind? My hand…”

Harry rushed forward, ignoring the lingering pulse of pain and anger in his mind as he pulled the chain, sighing in relief as a boat appeared.

“Get in, and don’t touch the water.” Dumbledore gestured towards the boat, his words tinged with urgency.

Harry clumsily climbed in, Dumbledore followed with much more grace, barely rocking the boat. As soon as he’d sat down, the boat began to move across the unnervingly still lake, Dumbledore’s lumos casting an eerie light around the cave.

The boat bumped against the edge of the tiny island, and Harry got out before offering a hand to Dumbledore. The older man waved him off, exiting just as gracefully as he’d entered.

He examined the basin for all of two seconds, before saying “we have to drink it.”

“We don’t even know what it is!” Harry replied.

Dumbledore looked at him from over the top of his half-moon glasses. “I thought you agreed not to question me. We don’t have time to test it — Voldemort is on his way, is he not?”

Harry grimaced and walked over, peering into the basin filled with dark purple liquid.

“I’m going to drink it — no Harry, you _can’t_ ,” Dumbledore added as Harry opened his mouth to object. “You must keep your wand out, in case Voldemort comes before we’ve got the horcrux. I need you to force me to drink it, even if I say no. You _promised._ ”

Harry winced and pulled out his wand, watching as Dumbledore swallowed one mouthful of the potion. His beard twitched at the taste, his eyes losing some of their twinkle. 

“I’m just going to...sit down for a minute. Will you do the…” Dumbledore trailed off, holding out the little crystal cup to Harry and sitting against the rock the basin was mounted on.

Harry filled up the cup, miraculously not getting any of the potion on his hands, and lifted it to Dumbledore’s lips. He drank it without complaint, but once Harry was out of sight, started moaning in pain. Harry grimaced, but forced himself to take out another cup of the horrid potion. 

Dumbledore, surprisingly, drank this one without complaint as well. His left sleeve shifted as he lowered the cup, and Harry jumped back, alarmed. “Sir, your arm…”

“The potion appears to be speeding up the curse slightly, but,” he groaned slightly, “it’s fine. Get another cup full.”

“But-“

“You promised.” 

Regretting his promise, Harry got the fourth cup.

“It’s just about halfway now, sir.”

“Good, good…” Dumbledore trailed off after drinking the fourth cup.

Dumbledore was babbling uncontrollably by the time Harry fed him the fifth cup of potion.

“I killed her...and I loved him...well I loved all three of them, and now they’re _gone_...well, Ab is as good as, with his goats...at least two of those horrid things are gone...shame Harry’s one though…”

Harry started at his name, but Dumbledore was mumbling about ‘Ab’ again. Harry bit his lip, feeding Dumbledore the sixth mouthful.

“Just two more to go, sir.”

The sounds coming out of Dumbledore’s mouth were no longer words, just sounds with the odd pop of a consonant. The old man was rocking back and forth clutching his shoulder, which didn’t bode well. What happened when the curse reached his heart?

Harry fed Dumbledore the penultimate cup full, not noticing an immediate change in his condition. Harry drew his wand — he didn’t know how long he had until Voldemort appeared, but figured that he may have to hold him off temporarily while Dumbledore recovers. 

He dipped the cup into the purple liquid — he could see a silver chain and greenish S that looked oddly familiar. However, halfway into the action, he heard a thud to his right. The cup fell from his hand with a _clunk,_ and he turned to see Dumbledore lying gracefully across the rocks, the tip of his beard not two centimetres from the water’s oddly still edge.

Panicking, Harry dropped his wand, which rolled away as he bent down to find a pulse, a breath, _anything_ , but…

Dumbledore was dead. 

* * *

Voldemort grimaced as he exited the cold water, glad that none of his followers saw his swimming. He dried himself with a flick of his wand — originally, the anti-apparation wards had _seemed_ like a good idea, since he’d never felt the need to visit his horcrux as his wards told him that his inferi had caught the Black boy, but he knew Dumbledore wouldn’t make the same mistake. The wards told him that Dumbledore was still in there as he walked straight through the wall, noting with satisfaction the blood that still glimmered on the ground. He walked in, shocked by what he saw — _Harry Potter_ was with his horcrux, and Dumbledore’s silvery hair was glimmering on the stone of the island. He removed the anti-apparition wards with a wave of his wand, knowing that the Potter boy didn’t have a way out of the island, and apparated to the island.

The boy scrambled as Voldemort appeared with a crack. The idiot didn’t have his wand — it was at Voldemort’s feet. He picked it up, relishing the puff of smoke that came as he snapped the wand. At this point the boy shuffled backwards, looking for...something. Voldemort would have let the inferi get him, but he needed to know who else knew — regardless of the pain of being in Potter’s mind.

He easily restrained him with ropes, leaving him hovering in the air.

“Fuck off,” Potter spat, his green eyes burning with fury.

“I don’t think I will.” Voldemort smiled, an evil smile that struck fear into the hearts of his enemies. At least, that’s what Lucius had said. 

“ _Legilimens,”_ Voldemort gritted his teeth against the pain, ready for it this time — it felt like his skin was burning, but this was more important. He watched as the boy obsessed over Lucius’ boy — Draco — and tried to convince himself that he loved some red–headed girl. It was a form of occlumency, Voldemort guessed — giving him useless pieces of information to keep the important things hidden. Voldemort tore through the flimsy memories, searching — and here he was with Dumbledore, looking at memories — was that his mother? Never mind that — and here the boy was telling some others — Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger — and the pain was now overwhelming. Voldemort almost pulled out from his mind — but there, in the corner there was a piece of darkness that screamed “home.” Voldemort shot towards it, relishing in the comfort it provided. Then he frowned. Why would one specific part of Potter’s mind be painless, when the rest wasn’t?

It hit him — he’d killed two people the night at the Potters — and horcruxes _had_ gotten easier to make as time went on. This boy was a _horcrux._ Which meant he couldn’t kill him. Which made the entire situation so much more complicated.

Satisfied that he had his answer, and less satisfied that the boy was a horcrux, Voldemort pulled out of the boy’s mind. 

“Let’s go.” Green eyes widened in shock, but he cast a silencing charm before he could protest. He put up new anti–apparation wards, this time making sure he could apparated in and out. Then he sent a message to the death eaters that were supposed to go to Hogwarts to send a note through the vanishing cabinet and get back to the Manor _now,_ and get everyone who wasn’t in the inner circle out for twelve hours. Happy that they would do that quickly, he levitated Dumbledore’s corpse into the lake a significant distance away from the island, removing the old man’s wand for good measure. He wouldn’t be using it anyway. And his body couldn’t be found for his plan to work.

Reasoning that his death eaters _must_ be back by now, he disillusioned Potter - _he’d caught Harry Potter_ \- _the Boy-Who-Lived was_ finally _his_ \- and apparated to the Manor.

* * *

Draco anxiously ran a hand through his hair. The death eaters were supposed to be here by now - they said two in the morning, and now it was five past. He didn’t _want_ them to come to Hogwarts — he wouldn’t have become a death eater at all, given the choice — but his parents were being threatened, and this needed to go right. He sighed in relief as he heard the familiar _woosh_ of the cabinet being used. 

“What took so long?” Draco hissed, opening the cabinet - but all that was inside was a note. 

_Dark Lord called, go back to your dorm._

Draco rolled his eyes at the untidy scrawl on the paper. He incinerated it, before grabbing the Hand of Glory and his Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder from the Weasley twins’ shop, making his way to his head of house’s quarters.

After a couple of close calls with Potter’s little friends — if _only_ he could have been one of them, then he wouldn’t be in this mess — he arrived at Severus’ quarters, and was hammering on the door.

“‘ _I_ _don’t need your help’_ , he says, at a perfectly reasonable time. At _this_ ungodly hour, he’s hammering on the bloody door.” Severus muttered as he opened the door, dressed in his usual black robes, but his hair revealing that he’d clearly been napping.

“Something bad has happened.”

“The Dark Lord is back, something bad is always happening.”

“Can I come in?”

“If you must.” Severus moved to the side, allowing Draco to enter.

“So you know how the death eaters were supposed to invade Hogwarts tonight?” Draco sunk into one of the plush armchairs in the living room.

“I do.”

“Well they didn’t turn up. They just send a note through saying they’d been summoned back to the manor.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

“Well they were coming to help with...you know…”

“I don’t think you’re off the hook.”

“Well obviously not, but I don’t know. Something is off.”

“Just be glad that we didn’t have to battle tonight. You’re good at duelling, but terrible at being a death eater, and the longer you keep that hidden, the better.”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am. Now go get some sleep.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Thank you. And goodnight.”

A small smile crept across Severus’ face. “Goodnight.”

* * *

Harry’s eyes darted around nervously as he was levitated into marble halls. He took in every detail he could, not that there were many — whichever family lived here clearly enjoyed the minimalistic look. 

He was eventually levitated into a dining room, of sorts — there was a long table, chairs and a chandelier, and a huge oil painting of some blonde person. He looked vaguely like Malfoy, but it clearly wasn’t him — for one thing, he wasn’t fifty years old. And his face structure was different. And his eyes were steel–grey, not blue grey.

However, it still looked like Malfoy. Which led Harry to believe that this was his home. _I knew you were a death eater, but isn’t inviting_ Voldemort _into your home a bit much?_

Harry abruptly stopped his ponderings as a collection of death eaters walked in the room, masks on. Not that that did much good - Harry recognised Lucius’ blonde hair and Bellatrix’s untameable mass of curls, as well as Greyback (or his smell, in any case. The guy really needed a shower).

“Is that — is that _Potter_?” Harry winced at Bellatrix’s high-pitched screech, cursing himself for dropping his wand. Not that he would have been able to defend himself, probably, but he could have at least had a chance.

“It is. But we can’t kill him.” Voldemort’s voice was silky in front of his followers, and Harry could almost see why they would follow him. Almost.

Bellatrix pouted, while Greyback leered at Harry. “And why would that be, My Lord?” 

“It would weaken me, due to what occurred fifteen years ago.” Not allowing anymore questions, Voldemort pressed on, “Lucius, do you have a special cell for our… guest?”

“I do, my lord.”

Harry was blindfolded, before he was moving again. He tried to figure out the route, but between being blindfolded and Voldemort occasionally spinning him around so he couldn’t get his bearings, he had no idea where he was.

After what seemed like an aeon, Harry stopped moving. He tried to take note of his surroundings as best as he could, being tied up and blindfolded — it was cold, and the air smelled of mildew. He heard some murmuring, before a loud _clang_ startled Harry, who would have flinched had he had an inch to move. He was thrown roughly into a room, hitting the wall with a thud and falling to the ground. The murmuring started again, and then Harry’s ties were removed. 

He sprung to his feet, only to hit his head on a low ceiling. Rubbing his head, he stood up cautiously — he had to bend his neck slightly to stand upright. It was extremely dark, but his eyes adjusted quickly. There was a light coming from behind Voldemort and Lucius, who were both regarding him with cold derision.

“What the fuck is this?” Harry’s head suddenly spun and he sat down, resenting that he was on lower ground to the older men.

“A little experiment of mine,” Lucius tried to purr — his voice was still dry and croaky from Azkaban, but he got his point across. “It leaches the magic from the wizard inside. Not enough to kill them, probably, but enough to weaken them considerably. And the door can only be opened by someone of Malfoy blood.”

Malfoy blood — that meant Malfoy — Draco — could get him out. Harry doubted that the Malfoy heir would be so generous, but perhaps with a bit of manipulation. Lucius must have seen the spark of hope in Harry’s eyes, and he chuckled.

“You think you can get my son to open the doors, don’t you? Well you can dismiss that idea — I have no intention of him getting anywhere near here.” Lucius spat at Harry’s feet, for good measure.

“One last experiment, before we leave, Lucius. _Crucio_!”

Harry shuddered as a wave of pain flew through him. Voldemort must have been weakened, in the graveyard — this pain was worse than anything he’d ever been through, as his skin was peeling off, needles tearing through muscle and his bones must be _melting_...

All at once, the pain stopped. “Interesting. So we can cast at you, but you can’t cast at us.” Voldemort lazily flicked his wand at Harry, causing a deep cut to appear on his cheek, before leaving.

Harry looked around again at his cell. Aside from a bucket in the corner, it was empty. The floor and ceiling were made of stone, as were three of the walls. The fourth wall was made of iron bars — Harry crawled over to them, to see if he could do anything — he reached out to touch one, and received a strong electric shock for his efforts.

Resigned to his situation for the while, Harry curled up on the cold floor, shivering from either the _crucio_ , the electric shock, or the cold.

* * *

“What do you know of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger?”

Voldemort sat at the head of the table, gazing haughtily at his most trusted followers. Lucius shouldn’t really be here, but Voldemort couldn’t be bothered to tell him to leave.

“My Lord, according to my son the Granger girl is a mudblood in his year, and the Weasley boy is likely a blood traitor along with the rest of his family.”

“They have sensitive information, and need to be...removed from the equation.”

“My Lord, I believe that they are currently at Hogwarts — I believe my son had a way for us to get in, if only we didn’t have to deal with Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore wouldn’t be an issue — but I would like to talk to them personally. We shall strike after the Hogwarts term has ended. How much longer is it, Lucius?”

“Another three weeks, my Lord.”

“We’ll have to do something to make sure they don’t divulge the information.”

* * *

Harry’s neck cracked as he lifted his head, blinking blearily at the figures outside his cell. There were two - one of them was probably Lucius, to open the door.

“We have a favour to ask of you.” The second person was Voldemort.

“No.” Harry’s voice was little more than a croak, but sure in his decision.

“You haven’t even heard my terms.”

“No.”

“Not even for better sleeping conditions?”

“No.”

“Not even for more water and food?”

“No.”

“Not even to save your friends?”

Harry’s head snapped upwards to look into red eyes. “What have you done?”

“Nothing...yet.”

Harry snarled. “If you do _anything_ to them—”

“Ever the Gryffindor. You can’t do anything, you’re in a cell.”

“What do I have to do?” Harry knew, and was pretty sure Voldemort knew too, that Harry would to anything to save his friends. No reason to hide that.

“Just write a little letter. Unlock the door, Lucius.”

Low murmuring — Harry was surprised the Malfoy hadn’t said anything yet. He’d likely been ordered not to.

Voldemort stepped into the cell, vanishing the contents of the bucket with a flick of his wand and presenting Harry with a quill and paper. “Write to your little friends and tell them you’re safe. Don’t try anything, I’ll be watching you the entire time and both me and Lucius will read the letter before it’s sent.”

Harry glared at Voldemort, his green eyes burning with untamed fury. As Voldemort’s facial expression didn’t drop the sneer, Harry figured that it was more trouble than it was worth and started to write, internally wondering how to drop a hint about where he was that would both get past Voldemort and Lucius, and wouldn’t result in them getting killed.

* * *

Hermione and Ron had been quite worried for the past twenty four hours. Harry had told them that he was going on a top secret mission with Dumbledore to find horcruxes, but hadn’t given them any information. Hermione had wanted to tell McGonagall three hours after they’d left, but Ron had pointed out that a) it was one in the morning and b) Harry was with Dumbledore — what could go wrong?

Hermione had been less sure, but had allowed Ron to tell her to wait for at least a day, especially since neither of them had known what exactly was entailed in horcrux hunting.

Hermione had been watching her watch, and suddenly stood up, startling Ron, who’s been dozing on the sofa next to her. “It’s been twenty–four hours. I’m going to McGonagall.”

“‘Mione, he’s got Dumbledore! I can’t say that I’m not concerned, but he told us to tell _nobody_.”

“We don’t have to _tell_ McGonagall what’s going on!”

“Then what are you going to tell her?” Ron was fully awake now, and half risen off the sofa as if he was under the impression that he could single-handedly stop Hermione from storming off to McGonagall’s office. 

“That — that Harry went on a secret mission with Dumbledore-“

“ _What_ secret mission?” Ron asked, in an appalling Scottish accent that strongly resembled Professor McGonagall.

“I can’t say, but they’ve gone missing-”

“How am I supposed to find them, _Miss Granger,_ if you won’t tell me where they’ve gone?”

“Well-“

Both of them turned to the window as an owl started tapping at the window. It was huge, glaring down its beak at them with two huge, orange eyes.

“That’s not Hedwig.”

“What an astute observation, Ronald.”

Ron rolled his eyes and opened the window, untying the letter and getting a nip to his finger for his trouble before the owl took off into the night.

“I guess we’re not supposed to reply then.”

Hermione sighed, taking the letter and grinning at the messy scrawl. “It’s from Harry!”

“Brill! See, I told you not to go to McGonagall. What does it say then?”

“If you could stop gloating for a second…” Hermione glared at Ron, who shut up and made a ‘go on’ gesture at her.

“ _Dear Ron and Hermione,_

_I hope this letter reaches you safely. The mission didn’t go as expected, but I’m currently hiding down south with Dumbledore. Enjoy yourselves as much as you can without the chaos often caused by myself. I will try to keep in touch, but cannot make any promises, being on the run and all, and regrettably will not be present at Bill and Fleur’s wedding._

_I love you both very much, and wish you luck,_

_Harry._

_P.S. tell Kreacher I’m ordering him to obey you two._ ”

“A bit short, wasn’t it?”

Hermione hummed and sat down, rereading the message. “It doesn’t seem like him. The entire message is oddly formal, but then he put Dumbledore instead of Professor Dumbledore.”

“He was probably in a rush, or something. And maybe Dumbledore told him what to write.”

“Ron, I want him to be safe as much as you do, but this is a bit weird. And that ending...doesn’t it seem like a goodbye? He literally gave us Kreacher.”

Ron sighed. “What, do you think Dumbledore’s dead, Harry’s been captured and forced to write this by death eaters?”

“No, Dumbledore couldn’t _possibly_ be dead, but this still seems dodgy.”

“‘Mione, we can’t do anything right now, so we’re just going to have to trust Harry’s word. That is his handwriting, isn’t it?”

“It looks a bit shaky…” Hermione eyed it critically.

“You’re overanalysing. Harry’s with Dumbledore, it’s fine.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at Ron, but cast a couple of detection spells over the parchment before delicately folding it and placing it back in the envelope.

“There was no ill intent when sending this letter, which means it’s a legitimate letter. So unless there’s some hidden meaning that we’re not getting, we have to believe that Harry is safe, and with Dumbledore.”

“Thank Merlin.”

For the next three weeks, the pair were considerably more relaxed, occasionally firing concerned glances at each other but generally trying to obey Harry’s letter and enjoy themselves. Ron often woke up and felt his heart jolt as he saw Harry’s empty bed, before remembering that he was on a secret mission with Dumbledore. Despite the nagging feelings in the back of their minds, Ron and Hermione enjoyed the newfound monotony of normal school life. Since Harry wasn’t there, there were no major events, and no one knew about the body, lost among masses of inferi, floating at the bottom of a hidden lake.

* * *

The shadows under Draco’s eyes steadily darkened as the weeks progressed. He hadn’t received any letters from his father, Potter had disappeared, for whatever reason. Draco was getting increasingly concerned about this — Granger and Weasley were always sending each other concerned glances at breakfast, even as neither of them made a move to find out where he was, based on the fact that McGonagall seemed perfectly relaxed. 

Snape refused to give him any information regarding what was happening at the manor. He really didn’t want to go back - it was good that his father was out of prison, meaning the summer would perhaps be slightly more bearable than Easter, except he didn’t have Hogwarts to look forward to in September. Now that he was a death eater, he didn’t have the refuge of seventh year. It was just living with the Dark Lord. Until Potter defeated him. Hopefully.

What he’d do if Potter died…

Kill himself, probably. There wouldn’t be another option for him. A lifetime under the Dark Lord’s command isn’t one worth living.

The end of his last term had quickly turned into his last week, and then his last day, and then he was packing up his room. This was _his_ room, more than the one at the manor had ever been. He sighed, pulling the corners of his mouth into a neutral expression and cast one last look around the room. The green drapes, the ripples of cyan light the lake sent across the room - Draco would miss it all. He’d even miss the initial spurt of cold water from the showers, the chills that rippled through his body when the fire went out.

He was silent for the entirety of the train trip. Pansy had figured out that he wasn’t feeling talkative, finally, and didn’t attempt to engage him in conversation, allowing him to wallow in self pity in the corner of the train carriage.

His parents picked him up with cold masks on their faces. To anyone else it would seem that they were distant and unaffectionate, but the fact that _both_ of them had come was important in itself. His mother indulged him in little touches — a hand on his shoulder, or at the small of his back, and his father smiled weakly, but proudly, at Draco when he thought no one was watching.

They apparated to the Manor, his mother and father ushering him down dusty passageways rather than through the main corridors. Once she deemed it safe, his mother enveloped him in a tight hug, the pair hidden in a dusty room. Draco breathed in her scent of jasmine, tears pricking his eyes. He took another deep breath, forcing his emotions down where they threatened to spill over. 

She let go before Draco before he was ready, and he turned to face his father. Azkaban hadn’t been kind to him - he had removed the glamours once they had arrived on their property, and he was emaciated, dark shadows carved under his eyes.

“I’m so proud of you, my son,” he said, reaching up with one frail hand to cup Draco’s face. Draco carefully schooled his face into a neutral expression, not sure what he felt towards his father. Love, of course, but only the kind that was expected between family. Hatred, at what he’d forced Draco into. Disgust, at the unfounded beliefs he’d drilled into Draco. Draco carefully turned the corners of his mouth upwards into a small smile, forcing his eyes to soften at the edges.

“Thank you, father.”

A soft smile from his father, and a surprisingly strong hand was steering him out into the main halls. Draco raised his occlumency shields as he entered the dining room, which contained Bellatrix, Greyback, Rodolphus, and a few other death eaters, as well as the Dark Lord himself. 

“My Lord.” Draco’s father swept into a low bow - an image that still made Draco feel nauseated — but he followed suit, a whisper of silk telling him that his mother had done the same.

“Lucius! How good to see you. Draco...I’ve heard no news of Dumbledore’s death. I’m disappointed.”

Draco grimaced — he’d seen no sight nor sound of the old man in the last three weeks of term. Since Potter had disappeared, in fact. They were probably gallivanting together somewhere. Hopefully cooking up a plan to murder the red–eyed man in front of him.

“I’m most sorry, My Lord.” Draco bowed even lower. “I had planned to kill him three weeks ago, but he’d disappeared, and the death eaters didn’t infiltrate Hogwarts as planned. He hasn’t been present at the school since that night.” Draco gritted his teeth, tensing as he knew what would follow.

_“Crucio.”_ Draco tried his best not to scream, though he wasn’t sure if he’d succeeded, for all he knew was the pain — his skin was being flayed and his organs were being poached, and all he wanted was it to stop, just for a moment.

It did, sooner than Draco had expected. “Be grateful, Draco. Your Lord is feeling merciful despite your...misdemeanours.” He held out one of his feet expectantly.

“Thank you, my lord.” Draco didn’t allow even a flicker of disgust across his face, as he knelt to kiss a polished, black shoe.

“Go. Unpack. I have a job for you tomorrow.” The Dark Lord dismissed Draco with a flick of his hand. Draco kept his steps even, refusing to give him the satisfaction of running out of the room. 

* * *

Harry wasn’t sure of how long he’d been left alone in the cell. There were no windows, and no structure, so Harry just spent his days staring at the bars. They weren’t perfectly even, but none of the gaps were large enough to slip through, making the information effectively useless.

He knew that the cell was draining his magic, but hadn’t noticed for what he estimated was around forty–eight hours. Now, between the draining magic, thirst and hunger, he was constantly plagued with headaches and shivers.

He could barely raise his head as the door creaked open. He heard a thud and a clink, as a bucket and a plate were placed on the floor. 

“Since you wrote such a lovely letter, we thought we’d provide some food and water.” The voice grated against Harry’s nerves, but he forced himself to sit up and take a sip from the bucket of water. His headache slowly ebbed away, and he drank a little more. Grasping a piece of stale bread from the plate, he looked up into the cold face of Lucius Malfoy. “I personally would have left you down here to rot, but the Dark Lord wants to keep you alive. Maybe to kill you at a later date.”

Harry’s lips thinned, but he bit into a chunk of bread and took a small sip of water, chewing slowly. “I look forward to it.” The five words caused a sharp pain in Harry’s throat, but it was worth it to see the smug look wiped off Lucius’ face.

The blond flicked his wand at Harry, reopening the wound on his cheek — it had _just_ finished healing — before turning on his heel, tailored robes flaring as he stormed up the stairs, leaving Harry alone once again. 

* * *

At the beginning of the last week of term, Hermione had sent her parents an owl telling them to go into hiding, having magically enlarged her trunk to bring almost everything she owned to Hogwarts so she could go straight to the Burrow at the end of term. Hermione was quite sure that they were going somewhere in Europe, although she hoped they would go further. As they were both sensible and dentists with a hefty salary, they had more than enough money to move to another country, and good qualifications to get jobs.

She would have liked to see them one more time, but as a muggleborn was simply putting them at risk. Furthermore, Bill and Fleur’s wedding was two weeks after term ended, two days after Harry’s birthday. She frowned — she still was uneasy about that letter. She’d debated sending a reply, but eventually decided on not, since it may endanger Harry and Dumbledore’s location. 

Hermione shook herself out of her stupor, packing all of her personal items neatly in her trunk with a flick of her wand, and shrinking the trunk with another. She pocketed the miniaturized trunk, casting a long look around the room. Lavender, Parvati, Fay and Julie had all left already. Hermione had always felt out of place in this dorm, never quite fitting in with their conversations, but had enjoyed several late night conversations with her roommates nevertheless. They’d been particularly helpful in fourth year for the Yule Ball. Hermione hoped that she’d come back, but knew that it would be a long time before she returned. She could only hope that McGonagall would allow her to sit her exams after the war was over given that she studied in the time between. 

She went up to the boys’ dorm to do the same spell on Ron’s stuff, knowing just how much he procrastinated packing. Indeed, everything that should be in his trunk was on a giant pile on his bed. 

“I was getting to it!” Ron weakly protested at Hermione as she packed the lot away.

“Sure you were. Come on, we need to be on the train in twenty minutes.”

“Bye guys.” Ron waved to Dean and Seamus, who were whispering urgently in the corner. “Don’t miss the train!”

“Bye Ron.” They both waved back, seemingly knowing that this would be the last time they would see each other in a long time.

On the train, Hermione didn’t really say much, no matter how much Ron tried to coax a conversation out of her. She just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was _wrong._

At the Burrow, Hermione allowed herself to be enveloped in a warm hug from Molly, accepting a kiss on each cheek from Fleur and a clap on the shoulder from Bill. She lost herself in jobs, cleaning, changing sheets, de-gnoming the garden — anything to ignore that sense of _wrong_ that sung in her very bones.

Three days in, when she was gritting her teeth as she scrubbed dishes, she decided to talk to Ron. Trusting her, he called a family meeting - Molly, Arthur, the twins, Ginny, Bill, and Fleur all gathered in the kitchen.

That’s when everything went up in flames.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s technically Friday where I am so here you go ❤️  
> TW: killing people, graphic description of Harry being tortured (so the usual amiright)

Draco didn’t sleep the first night back in the manor, rather spending the night carving runes in his doorway against snakes and freezing every time a shadow passed across the thin shaft of light along the bottom of his door. He smiled grimly as the sun came up, illuminating the delicate carvings. No snake would be getting through this door.

He changed his robes and cast a couple of cleaning charms, not wanting to spend more time outside of his room than required, before sitting on his bed and waiting for an appropriate time. It was currently half past five — maybe eight o’clock would be acceptable.

At eight o’clock exactly, Draco went down to the dining room, not at all surprised to see the Dark Lord holding court. 

“Ah, Draco, you’re just in time. There’s a village of… _muggles_ ,” he sneered, “which need taking care of. You can go with Fenrir, Rodolphus and your father. I’m sure he will show you the ropes.” He turned to look at Bellatrix. “Bella, could you bring…?”

“Of course, my Lord.” Bellatrix turned in a flurry of robes, quickly returning with something silver. The Dark Lord held it out to Draco, who knelt before him, staring at polished shoes and trying not to vomit.

“I believe you will need this.”

“Thank you, my Lord. I am most grateful.”

Draco took the mask that was held out — it was truly beautiful, even if it’s purpose was disgusting. Dragons were melded into the sides, breathing plumes of fire around Draco’s temples, which led into swirls across the face.

“Be in the entrance hall in...Rodolphus?”

“Half an hour, my Lord.”

The Dark Lord nodded his dismissal. Draco fled out of the room, as calmly as he could, walking directly to the bathroom and putting up a strong silencing charm before throwing up into the toilet.

Taking deep breaths, he stood, quickly vanishing the contents of the toilet and rinsing his mouth out over the sink. He would be expected to kill muggles, or _crucio_ them, at the very least. The Dark Lord still didn’t know that Draco could do neither, but would soon be finding out, apparently. Fenrir likely wouldn’t notice if Draco wasn’t pulling his weight, in his bloodlust — Draco shuddered at the thought of having to witness that — but Rodolphus probably would, and his father would definitely be watching his every move. Draco had hoped to go further before being found out, but resigned himself to his fate of being killed that very afternoon. It would be hard on his mother, but an easy escape for himself.

He shook his head and pinched his cheeks, trying to get a little bit of colour into them. He put the mask on his face — it was moulded perfectly to fit his face, which he found slightly disturbing. He quickly turned away from the mirror, preferring not to associate himself with the masked death eater in the mirror. What had his father gotten him into?

He went to his room, where he opened a book, looking for spells that he could use that would kill without him having to perform an unforgivable. The cutting curses were a strong choice — he could easily sever a major artery. He could just not look at the pools of blood. Never mind the fact that he was extremely squeamish. And the sound of muggles choking on their own blood — Draco sighed. He’d just have to learn how to cast a killing curse in — he cast a tempus — twelve minutes.

There was a spider in the corner in his room, he noticed. Perfect. He brought up all those feelings of hatred - towards his father, for forcing him into this. Towards the Dark Lord, for being a racist idiot. Towards the spider, for scaring the living crap out of him every time he saw it out of the corner of his eye.

_“Avada Kedavra!”_ The end of Draco’s wand glowed a faint green, but the spider didn’t even flinch. Just sat there in its web, taunting him.

Draco sat on his bed in defeat. 

“I’m going to die.”

* * *

Harry gazed longingly at the last slice of stale bread on the floor of his cell. He’d eaten the first slice about an hour ago, but his stomach felt like it was digesting itself. Relenting, Harry grabbed the last slice, glad that at least he wouldn’t have a shortage of water — the bucket appeared to constantly refill. Harry nibbled at the bread before taking a big swig of water — he’d learnt at the Dursley’s that drinking constantly with a meal made you full quicker. It temporarily kept the gnawing pain at bay, at least.

However, two hours later, Harry was curled up in the corner, clutching his stomach. He’d previously survived for longer on less food, but the years of Hogwarts feasts and cakes in the summer had spoiled him. Not to mention that that last slice of bread had tasted a bit iffy.

Harry didn’t quite know when he faded out of consciousness, but he opened his eyes to shoes outside his cell. Three pairs, in fact — Harry knew Lucius was there, recognised Bellatrix’s hair and Fenrir’s stench. Brilliant.

Trying his best not to groan at the headache pounding at his temples, Harry dragged himself upright.

“Finally awake, Potter? No reason to worry — just keying these two into the gate so that I don’t have to keep coming down here every time you need food.” Lucius sniffed, as if Harry was something on the bottom of his shoe.

Harry’s eyes darted nervously between the other two death eaters, who were wearing identically malicious expressions. Harry tried to suppress a shudder.

“We’ll have a lot of fun, won’t we Potter.” Bellatrix’s high–pitched voice caused Harry’s headache to pound harder, as if trying to break out of his skull.

“I’ll have a lot of fun. Don’t know about you.” Greyback grinned, showing yellow teeth and various black holes where teeth were missing.

Harry’s lips thinned, but he didn’t say anything.

“Anyway, here’s your meal.” Lucius threw another two slices of stale wholemeal bread. “The Dark Lord doesn’t want you to die, apparently.”

One of the corners of Harry’s mouth twitched. “How lovely.”

Bellatrix snarled, and Harry felt the cruciatus curse on him once again. Harry took deep breaths, deciding that this wouldn’t break him — it wasn’t even real. _It’s not real, you aren’t in any pain. Its not real._ The thoughts didn’t stop him from screaming.

Apparently deciding that he had been adequately tortured for the day, Bellatrix turned on her heel, the two men following closely.

Tremors racking his frame, Harry turned away and let the tears run down his face. At least he wasn’t hungry anymore.

* * *

Draco went to the entrance hall at exactly half past eight. His father and Greyback were already in the hall, and Rodolphus turned up five seconds later. 

His father took him to the village by side–along, since he didn’t know where it was. There was a moment where it was just them in the village, and the corners of his father’s mouth turned up slightly as he clapped Draco on the shoulder. Draco knew in that moment that his father was proud of him. It didn’t feel how he felt it should.

Two loud cracks echoed either side, as the other two death eaters apparated.

“Let’s go have some fun.” Draco was quite sure Rodolphus was sneering under his mask.

The four went into the village, setting fires to homes. Something in Draco’s chest clenched every time he sent out an _incendio_ , but he reminded himself who he was doing this for. The thought of his mother kept him going. 

Blocking out the sounds of screaming, Draco focused on his task, not allowing for any thoughts other than _incendio_. Under his mask, beads of sweat appeared, due to the heat of the area, the stress of the situation.

He almost didn’t notice walking straight past a man with a silver mask and flowing, black robes.

“Excellent job, Draco.” Draco’s father gestured behind, to the destruction Draco had tried to detach himself from. 

Draco nodded his thanks, making to continue, before—

“Would you like to have a little bit of fun?”

Before being given the chance to answer, Draco found himself being dragged by an iron grip around his arm. A door to a small, brick house with peeling, red paint was blasted off its hinges. Draco was dragged inside, but not before he was given a chance to note the neat garden, without a weed in sight, clearly looked after by a family that didn’t have much to their name. A soft smile appeared on Draco’s face, unseen by anyone else, at the late-blooming narcissus flowers — more commonly known as daffodils — blooming in long, narrow beds.

It was quickly wiped from his face as he entered a small sitting room - decorated in plain colours, but tidy and clean — and was faced with four wide–eyed muggles. There was a mother, and a father, arm in arm and trying their best to shield their children, peering from behind the parents with wide, hazel eyes. Draco wasn’t good with ages, but both looked too young to be at Hogwarts. Too young to die.

The parents fell abruptly as Draco’s father fired two killing curses in quick succession, the wand movement too fast to track, the green light illuminating the room. It unnerved him just how adept his father was at the killing curse. 

The younger of the two — Draco estimated maybe four years old, now that he had a better view — screamed and collapsed to her knees, desperately shaking her father, who was staring at the wall with wide, glassy eyes. Draco could feel himself trembling, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes — nobody should have to see their parents die. He tried to still himself, allowing the tears to track paths unseen behind the cold, metal mask. 

The older of the two children was probably around six years old. He was clutching his sister’s shoulders, stoically silent, and glaring at the Malfoys with hatred in his eyes. Hatred and anger, but surprisingly no fear. That adamant look — it looked like Potter. Even if he could cast the killing curse, Draco didn’t think he would be able to kill this one.

“Well, Draco? What are you waiting for?” 

Hearing the impatience in his father’s voice, Draco raised his wand, ignoring how the tip trembled slightly. He took one, two deep breaths. The wand stilled, and Draco tried again to muster up the anger towards his father. He could imagine the curl of his lip, the hardness in the steel–grey eyes. The steadiness in his wand as he raised it to punish him. 

“ _Avada Kedavra_ ,” Draco choked out, directing his wand at the younger child. As he expected, nothing happened.

“Pathetic,” Draco heard, seeing his father’s sneer in his mind’s eye.

“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ” Draco said more forcefully, faltering at the end at the look in the muggle’s eyes. He wouldn’t be able to do this, he knew it. And clearly, his father knew too.

Lucius muttered a curse, and the boy fell, his head hitting the floor with a sickening thump. Draco turned to look — he’d grown up _worshipping_ his fath- no, _Lucius_ , but the dispassion with which he’d just _killed_ the child wasn’t something Draco wanted to be related to. 

Lucius had turned to watch Draco’s reaction. The pair looked at each other, and Lucius fired a _crucio_ at the youngest child without a glance. Draco flinched backwards, trying to think of a way to end the unforgivable without actually attacking Lucius. The most humane thing Draco could think of was killing the girl — but he couldn’t do that. Could he?

Draco took a deep breath, ready to try one last time. “ _A_ _vada Kedavra_.”

The girl stopped screaming and writhing in pain, lying still on the floor. Draco let loose the breath, glad that he put her out of her misery. And that he could cast the curse in the first place.

Lucius, however, didn’t seem impressed. “I said we were here to have _fun_.” Draco could hear the look of disgust that was under the mask. “You’re no better than a blood–traitor. _Crucio._ ”

Draco fell to the floor, barely registering that the floor was softer and warmer than it should be over the waves of pain coursing through his body. He didn’t know how long he had the curse cast on him, nor the number of times it was. He lay on the floor, shivering with pain, hearing Lucius walk out with short, measured steps.

He couldn’t bring himself to move — until his shivering slowed, and then stopped, as heat washed over him. Who would cast a warming charm on him? The heat was steadily becoming unbearable, and Draco opened his eyes, seeing smoke above. Of course Lucius had set fire to the bloody house. 

Draco stumbled out, turning to look at the house a safe distance from the flames. The fire was rampaging throughout the house, and one particular flowerbed had been attacked.

Draco turned his back on the smouldering daffodils, fast walking to their meeting point. If Draco knew Lucius at all, he knew that he would have grabbed the other two death eaters and ran straight to the manor to tell the Dark Lord about his misdemeanours, but Draco couldn’t just turn up early.

At the meeting point — the very end of the village — Draco cast a powerful _hominem revelio_. There weren’t signs of human life anywhere in the village. 

Heart heavy with sorrow, Draco turned on his heel and apparated back to the Manor.

* * *

Severus shuddered as he passed through the wards guarding Malfoy Manor. They’d always been a bit too...close for his tastes. Hostile.

He walked to the dining room, clipping his heels on the floor as he went. No reason to sneak in, considering that since Lucius had fucked up Snape was now the Dark Lord’s prized possession. 

He regretted picking this particular time to visit, however, as he saw Lucius, Fenrir and Rodolphus kneeling in front of the Dark Lord. Those three had never been the most stable trio, and were never sent out without a fourth, often himself. Considering there wasn’t a fourth on the floor with them — either they’d ditched their fourth, or fucked up royally and were about to pay the price. Severus swept in, looking for the familiar gesture from the Dark Lord — usually a twitch of the hand, telling Severus to come stand at his left.

Sure enough, red eyes met his, and the Dark Lord nodded at him. Severus swiftly made his way to the right, listening intently to the conversation.

“He was practically a blood traitor, my lord. He didn’t kill the muggle until after I started torturing it.”

Severus kept his face carefully neutral, mulling over the words. From the sounds of that, the death eater in question could likely be a potential candidate for Dumbledore’s side. If the codger ever got back from whatever secret assignment he and Potter were on.

On the other hand, this was Lucius talking. He’d probably killed the traitor outright.

Severus' gaze snapped to the left as Draco walked in. Severus was glad to see the boy was okay — he’d been concerned about leaving him alone overnight in the manor, but was quite convinced that Lucius maybe, and Narcissa definitely, would protect him. He didn’t look very well — he was shivering slightly, and his hair was dirty, which was odd. Severus’ gaze travelled downwards, noting the rumpled clothing, and…

_Shit._

A silver mask dangled from Draco’s left hand. Which meant that _he_ was the so-called _‘blood traitor,’_ and had no way out of here. 

Lucius didn’t turn to look at his son, although a muscle in his face twitched at the footsteps. Draco, to his credit, didn’t flinch at the likely vicious glare directed at him by the Dark Lord, and knelt a healthy distance from his father. 

“Draco, your father has been telling me an… _interesting_ story.””

Draco’s eyelid twitched, but he didn’t move from his kneeling position. Clever boy — maybe there was hope for him yet.

“Well we all know what happens to blood traitors, don’t we?” An eerie chuckle from the Dark Lord, echoed by a few followers around the room.

“ _Crucio,_ ” Draco was screaming, and it was a horrid sound — Draco, Severus’ godson, was the closest thing he had to family, since he’d never had a romantic interest in _anyone_ , regardless of Potter senior’s accusations. It was taking all of his self control not to just take Draco and _go —_ he had to keep his cover, in case he could provide any useful information to the Order. The Dark Lord really needed to be taken down.

Severus hastily cleared his mind, and looked around the room. Most of the death eaters were looking on with malicious glee, a few with mild indifference - but then Severus caught Narcissa’s eye. She was terrified, and desperate, and conveyed a clear message: _You promised._

Severus refrained from sighing, before turning to the Dark Lord and saying in a low voice “my Lord, I know he was less than useless on the raid, but he may have...other uses.”

The Dark Lord turned in surprise. “What use would you have for such an insolent wretch as that?”

“He was quite talented at potions in Hogwarts — he could easily help me with several potions, freeing me up for other tasks, or making new potions.” Severus carefully kept his voice bored, indifferent — one slip up and Draco would be killed.

The Dark Lord sneered at Draco, who was lying face down on the floor, breathing shakily in and out. “You’re dismissed.” He turned to Severus. “Go with him. Tell him what he’s to do. I need more healing potions.”

Severus didn’t show his confusion, sweeping down and picking Draco up. “Time to go,” he hissed, before dragging him to his room. He saw Narcissa nod her thanks out of the corner of his eye, and smiled slightly as he exited. Not only did he know Draco had a mind of his own, which was a relief in itself, but if he could get him out, Draco could be a valuable ally to the other side.

At least the one member of his adopted family wasn’t evil.

* * *

Harry ran a finger along the cut along his cheek. Previously, cuts deeper than this would have healed in three days, but it had been a week since it reopened, and it was barely scabbed over. Apparently, his magic had been speeding up the healing, a benefit he wasn’t receiving now. 

Despite giving Bellatrix and Fenrir access to the door, only Lucius had been delivering his food. Likely a punishment by Voldemort.

However, Harry started as he heard different footsteps. They were faster than Lucius’ leisurely stalk, with soles that made clicking sounds against the stone floor.

Harry sat upright against the wall, eyes searching in the darkness. He saw a glimmer of silver, and heard the footsteps growing steadily louder, but this person hadn’t cast a _lumos_ like Lucius normally did.

Harry’s ears strained to hear anything past the footsteps, but only got a whisper of robes before he felt the cut on his cheek reopen. Another swish, and the end of a wand lit up, illuminating the face of Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Hello, Potter. Missed me?” Her high–pitched voice sent shivers down Harry’s spine.

“Not really, no.” 

Her pout quickly turned into a vicious smile. “With good reason.”

She opened the door with a flick of her wand, stepping in before closing it behind her. Harry didn’t move, watching her warily from his seat on the floor.

Ropes, not unlike the ones Voldemort had used, wrapped around Harry’s hands and ankles. Bellatrix left the ball of light hovering in mid–air, illuminating the harsh angles of her face — she hadn’t quite recovered from her stint in Azkaban.

She put her wand back in her holster, and palmed two knives from seemingly nowhere. Her grin grew, showing far too many teeth. She threw the two knives in quick succession, the sharp blades easily cutting through his clothes and leaving two deep scratches either side of his ribcage. 

Leaving them in the wall, she produced two more knives, stepping closer to Harry. He didn’t flinch, staring deep into those unnervingly emotionless eyes.

“Somebody’s feeling brave...let’s rectify that shall we?” Bellatrix lifted her knife up to the cut that was bleeding on Harry’s cheek, digging it in and widening the cut. Harry didn’t wince, focusing on breathing slowly and trying to detach himself from his body, from the physical pain. He’d been practicing his control over his emotions since he’d been feeling too tired to act on them and Dumbledore _had_ considered occlumency to be a useful skill — and it was getting easier and easier to dissociate from the pain.

Bellatrix sneered at Harry’s lack of reaction, removing the knife and dragging it along his collarbone. The sensation of knife against bone was jarring, and Harry tried even harder to not be there. He kept his mind blank, not even allowing thoughts of pain to drift across, until he suddenly just… _wasn’t_.

Harry didn’t quite know what Bellatrix was doing to his body, and he didn’t really care. It was clear that he wasn’t getting out — if Ron and Hermione had gotten the hints that something was wrong, they would have arrived by now. Which meant he was here forever, and Voldemort would never die. 

Unless _he_ did.

Harry inwardly frowned — he hadn’t considered that he’d have to kill himself to get rid of Voldemort. But the more he thought about it, the more he decided that that’s what would have to be done. He was quite sure that he was still being cut open by Bellatrix — he vaguely knew that he was still upright, in any case. Hopefully she would hit a major artery, but if she didn’t Harry could always hope for an infection. And if he stopped eating and drinking, that would speed up the process. Or at least, he could die from dehydration.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that the ties had been removed and he was on the floor. Not really wanting to deal with the pain, but needing to know what Bellatrix was saying, Harry pulled back into his body, gritting his teeth at the wave of pain that crashed over him. Bellatrix had really gone nuts. 

He felt something hit him in the head, then Bellatrix’s heels were clicking away. Harry groaned and sat up, his arms shaky beneath him. She’d clearly cast a couple of crucios as well, based on the pain in his muscles and general shakiness. Gritting his teeth, Harry pushed himself up so he was sitting against the wall and examined his body.

There were cuts criss crossing up and down his right arm, and the left had an elaborately carved dark mark. _Who knew Bellatrix had an artistic side?_

His legs seemed a bit useless, with deep cuts in his thighs. Good job he wasn’t going anywhere.

He looked longingly at the bread — Bellatrix had clearly gone out of her way to pick a horrid slice, with little mould spores everywhere. But he was a horcrux — and horcruxes needed to be destroyed.

Resigned to his fate, Harry lay on the dirty floor, hoping an infection would kill him quickly.

* * *

Voldemort sat at his chair, which wasn’t nearly grand enough — but apparently Lucius didn’t have anything better. A _legimens_ didn’t reveal any.

He called all the death eaters to his dining room, and dismissed Severus and Draco — they needed to do their potions. Anyway, even without them, the group was a hundred strong.

He’d been agonising about how to get the Weasley boy and the mudblood — while they were at Hogwarts, despite Dumbledore not being there, they were well protected, and he’d decided not to take any chances. 

Now, he had information that there was to be a Weasley wedding, and that the mudblood was staying at the shack that the Weasleys all lived in. Hopefully there wouldn’t be many people there, but if Voldemort sent all of his followers there, they would be severely outnumbered. Now it was three days since the school term had finished, and a week and a half until the wedding, which meant that they would definitely be there, but no guests would have arrived yet.

Voldemort cast a _sonorus —_ his voice easily filled the room, but he wanted to make sure every one of his followers heard him. “In one hour, all of you will go to the Burrow, where the Weasley blood–traitors live. You will erect anti–apparation wards and give them an ultimatum: they will have fifteen minutes to either give you Ronald Weasley and the mudblood Hermione Granger or their house will go up in flames with them in it. Once you have got the two children, you will immediately bring them back for questioning within half an hour of leaving, without harming them. Is that understood?”

A slow smile crept across Voldemort’s face as the crowd chanted “yes, my Lord,” as one.

* * *

Three days after Bellatrix had visited, and Harry was quite satisfied with how he was doing.

He’d been very disappointed in himself yesterday, as he ate a bit of bread and drank some water. Apparently he wasn’t as self destructive as he’d thought. The good news was that the cut on his thigh was definitely infected — when Lucius had visited he’d noticed in the light that not only was it very swollen, but it was oozing a horrid white substance. Thankfully, Lucius hadn’t noticed, as Harry strategically drew his legs up to hide the front of his thighs.

Harry grinned in satisfaction, eating his daily slice of bread. Hopefully, he’d be dead within two weeks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Character death, more torture :)

“I think something is wrong. Harry wouldn’t go this long without sending us another letter, and Dumbledore _definitely_ would have found a way to contact us.” Hermione stood at the head of the table, the assorted Weasleys and Fleur sitting around the table.

“Hermione, I understand that you’re worried, but they probably just haven’t had an opportunity.” Molly’s words were kind, but her tone was clearly condescending. 

“I don’t know, Mrs Weasley, I’ve had a bad feeling…”

“Look, Hermione,” Molly’s voice took on a harsher tone, the stress she was feeling transparent, “I understand that you’re concerned for Harry — we all are — but we have a lot to do in the next week and a half, and will just have to trust Dumbledore.”

Ron bristled at Hermione’s side. “Mum, Hermione’s smart and almost always right.” Hermione bit back a response of ‘mostly?’. “If she’s got a suspicion, we should probably listen.”

Molly sighed. “Alright, Hermione, tell us what to do.”

Hermione smiled at Ron, before turning back to the family. “I think, at the very least, we should send a letter to Harry. Just to find out what’s going on. We can put concealment spells on the owl and the letter to stop it from being seen, and finally get word because it’s driving me out of my mind.”

“That’s reasonable. Ginny, fetch some parchment and a quill.”

Ginny turned to leave, but her hair flared in a fiery arc as the familiar cracks of apparation sounded outside, followed by a wave of magic passing over the Burrow.

“Anti apparation wards.” Bill’s face was quickly draining of colour, as he watched the black figures outside of their house, increasing in number by the second.

“Can we floo out?” Ron asked, moving towards the fireplace.

“No — anti–apparation wards generally prevent all magical methods of exiting. And with that number of death eaters, we’d be killed with one step outside.” Hermione’s lips thinned, even as she knew that this is what that feeling had been warning her of. For all her disdain of divination, maybe she should have stuck it out for a bit longer if it could have warned her of this.

“I wonder why zey are not firing?” Fleur said, peering out of the window.

A booming voice echoed through the room. “All we want is Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. Give them to us within fifteen minutes and we will leave everyone else unharmed.”

“You had to ask,” Ron muttered.

“They’re death eaters - surely they won’t stick to their deal?” Fred — or George, Hermione wasn’t sure — raised one eyebrow, growing considerably more pale by the second.

“We have to give it a go.” Ron was so pale that his freckles looked like spots of blood on his skin, but his mouth was set in a determined line.

“We do - but not you.” Arthur looked at Molly, who nodded. He turned to the twins. “You have polyjuice in your room, right?”

“We…” the twins exchanged glances, before looking at Ron and Hermione, and then at their parents. “There must be another way.”

“I can’t make you do this.” Hermione looked desperately between Molly and Arthur. “There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t.” Molly’s eyes hardened, even as they shone with unshed tears, and she turned to the twins. “Polyjuice. Now. Make sure you have enough left for Ron and Hermione, and bring two boxes for a bit of our hair.”

They looked like they were about to object, but stopped at Molly’s set jaw and the tears lining her eyes, turning and slowly making their way up the stairs.

A heavy silence settled around the table. 

“You really don’t need to do this, Mrs Weasley, I’ll go out, they need you more than they need me—“

“Nonsense, Hermione. You’re part of the family.”

Hermione felt warm tears sliding down her face at the statement, and blinked hard. She had to try to stay strong. She couldn’t let Molly do this.

The twins appeared at the bottom of the stairs, their faces grave. “This is a variant of the polyjuice potion which we’ve tested and developed. It lasts five hours, instead of the usual one.”

“Excellent, boys.” Arthur sent a watery smile at them, before summoning two mugs. He split flask of the brown potion evenly between them, and put a few of his hairs in a box, passing the other box to Molly. “For Ron and Hermione, during events.”

“Now you two.” Molly nodded at Ron and Hermione, who were standing still with equally determined looks on their faces. One look between each other and they knew what to do.

Ron shook his head. “It’s us they want, it’s us they’ll get.”

Hermione and Ron took three steps to the door, but were quickly petrified. Arthur plucked hairs from each of their heads, and put them in the two potions. Ron’s turned a fiery orange–red, a little darker than his hair, and Hermione’s turned a rich purple. Arthur then levitated the two teenagers back to the other side of the dining table, away from the door, and removed the charm.

Before either of them could object, Molly and Arthur exchanged a chaste kiss and downed their potions. Arthur grew a couple of inches, gained freckles, lost his worry lines and his hair lengthened slightly. Molly’s skin and hair darkened as she grew as well, her clothes now hanging loosely off Hermione’s slender frame. She looked down and grimaced, casting a couple of shrinking charms so they fit.

“You have five minutes.” The booming voice echoed around the room, startling everyone. Ginny started sobbing, throwing herself into her mother — Hermione’s — arms.

“There, there, Ginny, it’ll be fine. Everyone will be fine.” 

“How?” Ginny asked, looking up with watery, brown eyes.

“It will work out. It always does.” Molly stroked her daughter’s back, before turning to the rest of her family that were present, tears finally leaking from her eyes. “I love you all very much. Tell — tell Charlie, and Harry, and — and — and Percy, if he ever comes back…”

“We will, mum.” Bill wrapped an arm around his fiancée.

“Whatever they’re after you for, you need to make sure you succeed in it. It must be key to defeating Voldemort if he’s this desperate.” Arthur sent a thin smile at Ron and Hermione. “You two,” he addressed the twins, “I’m very proud of what you’ve done. Keep it going, even when things seem bleak. You never know when something’s going to come in useful.” He turned to Ginny. “Don’t do anything rash — you’ve got a temper to rival your mother’s. Be calm, but fight when it counts.” He took a deep breath, and hugged Bill and Fleur, whispering something in their ears.

“This isn’t truly goodbye. We’ll always be there.”

Then, hand in hand, Molly and Arthur walked outside.

Hermione collapsed, sobbing, and Ron carefully sat down beside her. “‘Mione, you couldn’t have known this was what was going to happen…”

“But if I hadn’t come back…”

“They still would have come after me. And you would be dead.”

“Molly would still be alive.”

“Maybe they’ll escape.”

Deep down, they both knew that this wasn’t true, but consoled themselves with the idea anyway.

* * *

Exactly fifteen minutes after they’d left, a peacock appeared and said in Lucius’ voice. “We’ve got the children. On our way back.”

Voldemort pressed two fingers to his forehead as the death eaters started to file in. “You’re all dismissed. Lucius, take them to the cells on the highest level, and go get two doses of veritaserum from Severus.” Why they all felt the need to come back — once a mission is complete, they’re dismissed until there’s another mission. If only there were more smart people. Maybe he should start indoctrinating the Ravenclaws...then again, he had plans to indoctrinate the whole of Hogwarts.

He watched Lucius stalk out of the room, the two children floating behind him. He’d question them under veritaserum, then kill them. Lucius could get rid of the bodies afterwards.

He sighed and slowly made his way to the cells. Hopefully Lucius would know to be quick — he wanted this over and done with. He didn’t want them letting slip about his secrets to his followers — they just don’t need to know. 

Indeed, by the time he was at the cells, Lucius appeared, panting slightly and holding two vials of clear liquid. “My Lord, Severus says that he needs more ingredients to make more.”

“That’s fine - he’ll know where to get them. You’re dismissed - I’ll call you afterwards.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

Voldemort opened the first cell door. The Weasley boy.

He pulled his jaw and poured the veritaserum down his throat, before casting a _rennervate._

He waited for the boy to be fully alert, then, not seeing the point in beating around the bush, said “Did you tell anyone else about the horcruxes?”

Surprised to not see any fear in the boy’s eyes at the sight of him, Voldemort narrowed his eyes slightly. “No.”

“Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes.”

Excellent. _“Avada Kedavra.”_

Voldemort quickly repeated the same process with the mudblood, pleased to hear that she hadn’t told anyone else. And since Potter hadn’t told anyone, and Dumbledore was dead...his secret was safe. Slughorn may suspect, but that idiot wouldn’t say anything, at the very least due to his Slytherin self-preservation instincts. If he even remembered.

He considered feeding the children to Nagini, but she was quite happily sleeping upstairs at that moment in time. Easier to just get Lucius to dispose of them.

Voldemort smiled as Lucius quickly nodded, saying that he’d incinerate the children. 

Nothing could stop him now.

* * *

Harry didn’t know how long it had been anymore. He didn’t know who brought his food, or how often it was arriving. He was weak, barely able to sit up to drink some water, and always shivering.

He slept facing the wall — he slept through people bringing him food, occasionally being woken up by a cruciatus curse.

The toll the cell was taking on his magic was becoming steadily obvious — Harry found that, when he was awake, he could feel the magic of whoever come down the stars - it stung against his skin, like a thousand tiny needles.

He’d also lost any use of his right leg, the pain of the infection steadily moving upwards. His heartbeat was erratic, fluttering — _Maybe this is the last one,_ Harry thought during each cruciatus. 

It never was.

After a significant amount of time — he had five slices of bread on his plate, but was also quite sure they’d stopped coming - a different magic brushed against his skin. Curious, he turned over, to see red eyes staring down at him.

“Finally deigned to visit?” Harry’s voice sounded weak, barely more than a whisper.

“I see you’re trying to die on me, Potter.”

“Me? Die? Never.” Harry’s voice — what was left of it — trailed off before he could finish the last word. His eyes were so heavy...maybe a little nap.

“Your little plan isn’t going to work, Potter.” Voldemort sneered at him, before stepping into the cell. He tutted at Harry’s leg. 

“Open your mouth.” Voldemort commanded.

Harry raised an eyebrow in response.

“You couldn’t make it easy, could you.” Voldemort sneered in disgust, before delicately pinching Harry’s nose so he had to open his mouth, before pouring a potion down his throat. Harry spluttered and coughed, moving more than he had in days. Apparently that was good enough for Voldemort, who swiftly left the cell.

Harry grimaced, already feeling the potion working its magic, once again shivering as he fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

“Why were you on a mission?”

Draco glared at Severus. It likely didn’t get his point across, since he was sitting on the floor, hugging his knees and shivering. 

“For the shits and giggles, Severus.” It was a phrase he’d heard the muggleborns say, and was clearly lost on Severus, who simply raised an eyebrow. “Because the Dark Lord said I had to, why else?”

“Well, he probably won’t make that mistake again. This is easy enough, anyway.”

“What are we doing, exactly?”

“Making potions. The Dark Lord said he needs healing potions, so we’ll be doing that. He took some yesterday, for whatever reason — probably fell down some stairs.”

Draco snickered.

They spent the rest of the day brewing generic healing potions — they’d generally get rid of mild diseases and infections, and speed up the healing of most injuries.

Just as they were putting the last potion on to boil — seventeen minutes exactly, otherwise it wouldn’t work — they were called down to the dining room, and immediately dismissed.

“Wonder what that was all about?” Draco said, sitting next to Severus with the countdown for the potion ticking ominously in the air.

Just as they’d finished bottling the potion, Lucius came running in, hair still in place despite him panting with exertion.

“The Dark — Lord needs some — veritaserum — two doses — quickly —“

Before Lucius could finish his sentence, Severus stood in a flurry of robes, handing the blonde two small bottles filled with clear liquid. “Tell the Dark Lord that I require more ingredients for the healing potions since we’re running low.”

“Yes of course,” Lucius hurriedly said, before sprinting down the hallway. Draco poked his head out — it was odd to see his ‘father’ so...dishevelled. 

“What do we do now?” Draco asked, sitting down on the sofa.

“Exploding snap?” Severus raised an eyebrow.

“Bit loud. Chess?”

“Sure.” Draco thrashed Severus in game after game, revelling in the small window of normalcy from their everyday life.

* * *

Harry groaned inwardly as he heard Lucius’ tell–tale footsteps for a third day in a row. He was especially fond of the cruciatus, although still nowhere near the viciousness of Voldemort or Bellatrix. Curiously, Harry had yet to be visited by Fenrir — a full moon must have passed by now, and Harry had expected that that would be when the werewolf would visit. 

“Potter, are you going to be cooperative today?” Lucius sneered down at him from the other side of the bars.

Harry sighed — he felt defeated. No reason to let them know, though. “What do you think?”

Lucius looked at Harry as if he was less than dirt on the bottom of his shoe — but then again, he practically was. He hadn’t had a shower in what was likely close to a month, was still bleeding and without the potions would likely be suffering from blood loss, and despite the potions his thigh still looked disgusting, as if it wouldn’t be healing anytime soon. Meaning he was stuck here, just barely alive, but alive nonetheless. If Bellatrix came in, and Harry could get a hold of one of her knives…

But she hadn’t come by since she’d almost killed him. And Harry doubted that Voldemort would let her near his horcrux after she almost killed him.

Harry tried to look angry as Lucius walked into the cell, walking daintily as if he wanted his shoes to just not touch the ground, but Harry was quite sure he just looked tired. He swallowed the potion without complaint — he just didn’t have the energy to fight. It brought him a little satisfaction to make the Malfoy patriarch walk into his squalid cell, though.

“Little shit.” Lucius sneered one last time before sweeping up the stone stairs. Harry rolled his eyes, shivering violently as the obtrusive prickle of magic left, leaving him with a bone deep chill despite it being the height of summer. 

* * *

Ron felt something break in his chest as he sat, unmoving, on the floor, and somehow knew that his parents had just been killed. He took one deep, shuddering breath, and then two, before looking up at Bill, Fleur and the twins, who hadn’t moved since the door had shut. The Death Eaters, surprisingly, had stuck to their word, apparating as soon as they’d left with Molly and Arthur.

“We need to — we can’t stay here all day.” Ron’s words barely penetrated the heavy silence. 

Ginny sniffled from her seat in the corner and nodded. “Cleaning seems a bit pointless, now, doesn’t it?”

One of the twins cracked a watery smile. “You know what mum would say, though — ‘cleaning is the base of all productivity!’”

That elicited a forced chuckle from everyone in the kitchen, but nobody moved.

After what must have been three hours, Bill pushed down his grief first. He carried Ginny to her room, allowing her to sleep the day away. The sight of their baby sister near catatonic spurred the twins into action, trying to carry on in the best way they knew how — by telling inappropriate jokes. Despite the somber occasion, Ron suddenly turning into a canary did lighten the atmosphere.

Fleur’s parents arrived two days later, listening to their daughter’s story in rapid fire french and consoling her. The presence of her parents rejuvenated Fleur, who cleaned the house like a demon. This in turn made the other inhabitants guiltily help out, the wedding preparations coming along surprisingly well.

Charlie came back from Romania three days before the wedding, and promptly left as soon as he heard the news. He’d never liked crying in front of anyone other than dragons, since the hugging and sympathy made him feel claustrophobic. His siblings had looked at each other knowingly, and not said a word as he returned with red–rimmed eyes, wand help aloft, ready to lift up the marquee.

Two days before the wedding, Scrimgeour arrived at the Burrow, where The Weasleys greeted him from behind layers of walls, whether they be walls of silence and indifference, or loud chatter and jokes to drive the silence away. He got no information regarding Harry Potter’s whereabouts, and left feeling downhearted that the ministry wouldn’t be receiving any support from the Saviour, since no one knew where he was.

The day of the wedding, Ron and Hermione polyjuiced into Molly and Arthur Weasley, eliciting fresh tears from the rest of the family, who knew what had happened. As far as the others knew, Ron was upstairs with spattergroit (the ghoul in Ron’s pyjamas) and Hermione was in hiding with her parents in an unknown location. The rest of the attendees assumed the tears were due to the emotions triggered by the first of this generation of Weasley’s getting married, and no one asked too many questions. 

Luna, of course, immediately spotted Ron and Hermione for who they were, and after being quickly informed of the events that had transpired behind a _muffliato_ , she spend the rest of the night at Ginny’s side. Nobody took note of the triangle hanging around Xenophilius Lovegood’s neck, and no one bad–mouthed Albus Dumbledore, even as rumours flitted around the crowded tent.

The Ministry fell as Bill and Fleur danced, silvery tears soaking Bill’s suit as they whirled around the room as one being. Kingsley’s patronus caused the somber event to erupt into chaos, Hermione apparating Ron and her beaded bag onto the doorstep of Grimmauld Place.

Immediately Hermione cast a _hominem revelio_ , the spell revealing no one else. Next she called Kreacher, summoning Harry’s letter from her bag — he grumbled, but Harry had apparently phrased it correctly as he obeyed her orders to tell her about the wards on the townhouse.

She gasped as the old elf told her that there wasn’t a fidelius on the house. 

“I didn’t think those could be broken-“ 

“Unless the secret keeper dies, or removes the spell.” Hermione finished Ron’s sentence. “Kreacher, can you bring me every book from the Black library that has useful information about the Fidelius?”

The elf grumbled and mumbled obscene phrases under his breath as he disappeared with a crack.

Hermione hurriedly put up as many wards and charms as she could to hide the house, before dragging Ron into the nearest room, stupefying Walburga’s portrait as she went. 

“Why would Dumbledore remove the Fidelius? I mean I know Sirius wasn’t living here anymore so the Order weren’t using it as a base but I mean really.” Hermione grumbled, opening one of several dusty tomes.

“I don’t think he did, ‘Mione.” Ron’s face was ashen, as he rested a hand on Hermione’s knee.

“What do you think then? Dumbledore cannot be dead.”

“I think he is. And I think Harry’s in trouble.”

“But — Harry was with Dumbledore.”

“I think you were right when you said something was fishy about Harry not contacting us, and when you said that letter was dodgy. Anyway, the first thing to do is to put up a fidelius around the house.”

“But Harry—“

“We have no information regarding him. The information we do have tells us that the Ministry are after us, and anyone can break through these wards. We have to think strategically — defend our home base before going on the offensive.” Ron’s voice was gentle as he lightly squeezed Hermione’s knee.

“I — okay. Start on this book.” She scourgefied the smallest of the books so dust wouldn’t fly into Ron’s face, before thrusting it in his lap and beginning to read her own.

* * *

Voldemort groaned inwardly as he thought about the situation. He, Lord Voldemort, had to ensure that Harry Potter, his sworn enemy, lived, otherwise he’d lose another horcrux. He knew the diary was missing, and had checked on his ring straight after bringing the boy back to the Manor, only to find that it had disappeared and the wards surrounding it were in ruins. He’d have to get the cup out of Bella’s vault soon — he’d gotten _Quirrell_ to break into Gringotts, so any aspiring, reckless Gryffindor could likely break in as well. The diadem — well, there was nowhere safer than that undiscovered room, and he doubted anyone would notice it, never mind realise what it actually was. Everyone who knew about the Horcruxes was either incapacitated, or dead, and yet Voldemort couldn’t shake the feeling that he would have to look after them better. Well, he had Nagini, and would soon have the cup in the Manor with him. He’d have to take down the Ministry first — then he would be able to do what he wanted.

He checked on the web of _imperius_ curses he was controlling — he controlled the top five, which each controlled five of their own, and so on. Most of the ministry departments had two infiltrators — if he could just get to the blasted aurors, he could easily take over. He sent another message down to take over the aurors, and stalked down the worn, stone steps.

“How are we doing down here, Potter? Cozy?” Voldemort laughed. He’d always hated his laugh — it was too high pitched — but he revelled in the shiver that travelled down the boy’s spine.

“Of course, Tom. You doing okay?” He replied in a conversational tone, even as his eyelids shuttered for a second.

Voldemort snarled at the sound of his old name. “Not trying to die on me, are you, Potter.”

“Never.”

Voldemort growled “ _crucio_ ,” scrambling for a foothold in the conversation. He felt malicious glee spread through him as the boy writhed on the floor at his feet. Afterwards, he lay unmoving, his chest barely moving.

“You need better healing potions.” Voldemort turned on his heel, striding out of the dungeon. Lucius could bring food later. Neither Bellatrix nor Fenrir could be trusted to not kill him, anyhow.

“Lucius!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the corridor.

“Yes, my Lord?”

“I require use of the library.”

“Of course — right this way, my Lord.” Lucius strode off into the west wing of the Manor, leading Voldemort to the library nestled on the third floor. 

Voldemort coughed as he walked into a dusty room. “Don’t use this room often, do we?”

“No, my Lord.” 

“You're dismissed.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

Voldemort watched Lucius leave, before turning back to the library. There was a little book at the start that told you where each topic of book was — there was a huge section on healing, and a very small section on horcruxes. Voldemort went down to each section and removed a few books, before sitting in a small chair. He briefly considered asking Lucius to bring his chair upstairs, but decided not to since it would probably take the incompetent man a full day.

The healing books were completely useless — they talked about letting people recuperate in a comfortable environment, and that their magic would help. If Voldemort let Potter have access to his magic, he’d break out.

The books on horcruxes mostly talked about how to make them — useless, since he had seven already — but at the back it had some extra information on human horcruxes:

_Human horcruxes, while strongly advised against, are possible. They are made in the same method—_

Voldemort skimmed past the method, listed in excruciating detail, and went down to a section helpfully labelled “ _Looking after your human horcrux:”_

_A horcrux will drain a great deal of the humans magic, which will subsequently affect their immune system. In addition to an increased infection risk, the clotting factors are depleted, putting their wounds at a greater risk. Therefore, it is vital to choose a being with a deep well of magical energy. Depleting their magic source can result in loss of muscle mass and death._

_There is a risky method that can be used to keep a horcrux alive. Using the_ Draught of the Essence of Living _, a potion closely utilising blood magic, and adding the blood of the person whose soul has been torn, their lives would be equally entwined with each other. This means that neither could die while the other survived, and would essentially both be rendered immortal, and the only way the horcrux could die is by a killing curse from either the blood donor*._ _However, this is a branch of magic that hasn’t been researched in depth, and decisions shouldn’t be made rashly._

Voldemort’s skimmed the page looking for the footnote — it was just some random information on ‘ancient magic’ interfering with it; as if it didn’t interfere with _everything._ Well, he’d overridden the protection spell on Potter put on him by his mother; and Potter was just going to be staying in his dungeon, so he wouldn’t have access to anyone who could utilise ancient magic anyway. 

Voldemort checked through the rest of the book for other options for the potion — there were none — before rereading the section. He wasn’t about to fire a killing curse at the boy, so there were no issues.

He fetched instructions for the potion, and went to Severus and Draco’s room.

* * *

Draco startled as Voldemort swept into the room, a book clutched in his right hand. Catching himself, he bowed deeply, a whisper of robes to his right telling him that Severus had done the same.

“My Lord,” they chorused.

“Rise, both of you. I need you to make this potion.” Voldemort slammed a book on the table, making them both flinch, and opening it to a seemingly random page. He moved backwards so the pair could look. 

Severus reached the book first, leering down for five seconds before saying “and whose blood will we be using, my Lord?”

“Mine.”

Draco glanced between the two men and the book. Deciding the expressions Severus was trying to hide were much more interesting than a book he could read later, he watched his godfather.

“As you wish, my Lord. We have the rest of the ingredients, although some of my stocks will be used up, so we just need the blood. I assume you only need one dose?”

“That is correct, Severus. Do you have a flask?”

Severus summoned a vial and a silver knife, offering them to Voldemort. He made quick work of half–filling the small vial, before healing the cut and returning the objects to Severus. “How quickly can you have it done?”

“It doesn’t look like its time–consuming, just physically taxing, so tomorrow evening at the latest.”

“Perfect. Bring it to me at your earliest convenience.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

Taken up in the conversation, Draco almost forgot to bow as Voldemort exited the room. He waited until Severus had erected silencing wards and charms to alert them when someone was going to enter the room before loosing a breath.

“Blood magic?” Draco said.

“We just have to listen to him and brew the potion — why don’t you have a look instead of gawping at me.”

Draco rolled his eyes and walked over to the book, looking over it properly. It didn’t look particularly difficult to brew, similar to the healing potions they were brewing before, but illegal due to the blood magic involved. Draco wondered if Voldemort knew that he was tying someone else’s life to his own with this potion.

“Do you know who’s supposed to be drinking this?” Draco asked.

“Of course I don’t, you know the Dark Lord operates on a need–to–know basis. Otherwise we would know what that massive operation was a week ago.”

“That _was_ odd.”

Severus made a non commital sound, before setting up the ingredients for the potion. They worked in silent harmony, used to the motions at this point. The potion bubbled a dark red as the blood was added, before they turned down the heat to let the potion simmer for a twelve hours.

“A blood potion. A blood magic potion. And he’s tying someone’s life to his own — probably the same person who the other healing potions were for.” Draco’s mind whirled with possibilities as he paced in front of Severus, who was sitting on the sofa, watching him with a bemused expression.

“It wasn’t a death eater, since no one of high ranking has been injured. It wouldn’t be a muggleborn or a muggle, since he usually just kills them anyway. Who else could it possibly be…”

“Is there any reason to be agonising over this, Draco?”

“Well, yes. If this person is a prisoner, then they’re not on the Dark Lord’s side. They could probably be a powerful ally, if only we knew who it was. The potion doesn’t control minds, does it?”

“No, just extends the life by attaching it to someone else’s.”

“But why would he go to all these lengths to keep them alive…and use such archaic magic?. The only _plausible_ reason is if the person was magical, but didn’t have _access_ to their magic…” Draco trailed off as his eyes widened. As the Malfoy heir, he had small ties to the wards where they were particularly strong — namely, the lower dungeons. He remembered feeling a prickle since Potter had disappeared - maybe someone was down there. He knew his father had been importing enchanted stone that drained magic. Maybe someone from the other side was down there, and Voldemort wanted information he couldn’t get from leglimency.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Severus drawled after several moments.

“I think there’s someone from Potter’s side in the dungeons that the Dark Lord is keeping alive.”

“Really. A bit far fetched, isn’t it?”

“I can feel… _something_ in the area where the wards are really dense. I think there’s a human down there.”

“Is this supposed to help us somehow?”

“Well, if we could break them out—“

“ _No_. I promised your mother I’d keep you alive at all costs, and that does not include breaking random people out of the dungeons!”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He cast a disillusionment charm on himself, shivering at the feeling. “On an unrelated note, how’s my disillusionment charm?”

“Surprisingly good, but it won’t protect you from Nagini.”

Draco sighed and removed the charm with another flick of his wand. “I am finding out what’s going on, one way or another.”

“No you’re _not_.”

Draco huffed and flopped onto the sofa — _gracefully_ , because he is a Malfoy.

He didn’t care what Severus thought. If there was a chance to help defeat the Dark Lord, he was taking it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Vague reference of rape and torture.

Remus’ bones cracked as he collapsed on the floor. Each full moon felt worse than the last, even as spending time with other werewolves resulted in less injuries. He was _really_ getting too old for this.

He looked around him, squinting at the sunrise filtering through the towering trees. Despite having spent the last five moons in this wood, this area still felt unfamiliar. A thin carpet of pine needles pricked his bare feet as the wind whistled through the evergreens. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of dirt, and pine, and of the pack he’d spent the night — well, most of his time for the last year — with.

Since Sirius had died, he hadn’t really spoken to any members of the Order other than Moody for reports. He preferred to live with the wolves, and it wasn’t _so_ bad, really — they distracted him from his grief, whether it be with conversation or a quick fuck.

But still, the full moons had been getting gradually worse. There were two in that month of July, and the second one was truly a killer — his very bones ached in a way they hadn’t since he’d been trapped in a cage as a youth. At least, during those awful years after James and Lily died, he could take advantage of enchanted forests. The ambient magic lessened the energy needed to transform, which made the post–moon energy crash much more bearable.

Everyone was dying, these days. Harry must think that Remus had abandoned him — but then again, the poor boy was probably used to it. Remus couldn’t do him any good, anyway.

He stood, wincing as his joints cracked, and looked around again. His mission hadn’t been a _total_ waste — most of the wolves had agreed to remain neutral, which was an improvement from them blindly following Voldemort. Most of these people weren’t fighters — they’d be safest in the forest.

Remus took a few stiff steps and started when he scented a wolf walking behind him on near–silent feet.

“Conan, I have to leave.”

“No you don’t. You could just stay here with us.” Conan put a hand on Remus’ shoulder, and he almost melted into the touch — he didn’t like Conan romantically; — he didn’t like _anyone_ romantically, not since Sirius — but he’d been a good friend on the cold, winter nights.

“There’s a war. Your pack — and they are _your_ pack — aren’t fighters.”

“Neither are you.”

“I have people to defend, Conan.” Remus sighed and turned, looking into the eyes of his friend. It had once unnerved him, the fact that one was brown and the other grey, but Remus had grown used to it. “And I think we both know I don’t belong here.”

“You could. If you’d let go of your grief.”

“We both know I can’t. The adrenaline spike will disappear soon, and you know I won’t be able to apparate for at least twenty–four hours — just let me go. I’ll try to come back for the next full moon.”

Conan lowered his eyes, before throwing his arms around Remus’ neck. “I will miss you.”

Remus raised his arms, briefly hugging Conan. “I’ll miss you too.”

Remus stepped out of the embrace, already feeling the post–transformation adrenaline rush ebbing away, and apparated to the Burrow.

* * *

Harry shivered. He was always shivering, now, even as beads of sweat trickled down his face. An area in his chest — or maybe his abdomen — previously a reasonably large ball of warmth, getting him through the long nights in the cupboard back at the Dursleys, was shrinking, barely the size of a marble. Instinctively, he knew, as soon as that marble of warmth disappeared, he’d die soon after. The smaller it got, the slower it shrank, as if fighting for Harry’s survival, but Harry was quite sure he wouldn’t last another week.

He sighed. Recently, the time at which he woke up was quite close to when Lucius came to bring him his potions and food, but he’d been awake for a while, and still hadn’t heard those footsteps.

He closed his eyes, willing sleep to take him from his prison once more.

* * *

At exactly 6:00pm, Severus brought Voldemort a vial of a blood red potion. 

“Are you sure its supposed to look like that?” The area where Voldemort’s nose should be wrinkles as he looked at the potion with disdain.

“The blood is a vital component in the potion, so yes. I have one extra dose if you require it.”

“Throw it away, the book said one should be enough.” Voldemort hurried out of the hall, trusting Severus to do what was required.

He was quite sure he was late, but he could just wake up the boy with a _crucio_. No problem.

He cast a spell to dispel the stench, gingerly stepping on the stone floor.

Potter was lying on the floor, his breathing shaky despite him being clearly unconscious. His potion hadn’t been made a moment too soon.

“ _Crucio!_ ” Potter’s motionless form shook a few times before his eyes shot open. “Excellent, you’re awake. Drink this.” He held out the potion through the bars expectantly. Potter sat there and watched him, his face expressionless.

“I am the Dark Lord, why didn’t I get Lucius to come down,” Voldemort muttered, grimacing as he stepped through the open door. 

He tied up Harry with a careless _incarcerous_ , opening his mouth and quickly throwing the potion down his throat. He threw another _crucio_ at him, and reopened the two matching cuts on his cheeks — Bellatrix really had gone all out. In fact, now that he knew the boy wouldn’t die, she could go back down and let off some steam. Fenrir too.

Satisfied with the crumpled heap on the floor, Voldemort turned on his heel and left the dungeon.

* * *

“Are you sure we can do this with two people, ‘Mione?”

“Are you doubting my calculations?” Hermione put her hands on her hips, glaring at Ron who was looking extremely nervous.

“I don’t really understand them…” Ron glanced at the page of numbers and runes, if anything to escape Hermione’s glare for a couple of seconds.

“Just trust me. You’ll be secret keeper because I need to do the incantation, then you can tell me and no one else will be able to get in.”

Ron sighed. “Ok so what, we’re going to do it now?”

Hermione gestured to the dusty room. “We’re not doing anything else!”

Ron sighed and followed Hermione out onto the cobblestone patio, both of them turning to face the intimidatingly large house.

“Okay, so hold your hand out.” Hermione glared at Ron expectantly, who held out his hand, blushing to the tips of her ears when she took it in her own.

She rolled her eyes before continuing. “This is going to have a drain on your magic, but not as bad as mine. Just a warning.”

“Alright. Go for it.” Ron waved his left hand vaguely at the house.

The corner of her lips twitched, and she started chanting... _something_ in Latin. Ron tried to relax and just let his magic flow out of him, gritting his teeth as his knees threatened to buckle. Still, he let the magic flow, occasionally sneaking glances at the beautiful girl beside him.

She chanted continuously, barely stopping for a breath, her dark, bushy hair crackling with magic, her dark skin beading with sweat. _Beautiful._

Her grip on Ron’s hand grew painful, but Ron didn’t flinch as he let the magic pour out of him, giving all he had as if the world depended on it — because, well, it _did._

It felt like an eternity had passed by the time it was over, though Ron knew the spell only lasted around five minutes. Hermione collapsed as soon as she finished chanting, but Ron caught her easily even as his muscles shook with exhaustion and his legs threatened to give way.

“Did it work?” He asked.

Hermione frowned as she tried to remember Grimmauld, her face lighting up when she couldn’t. “Yes.”

He hauled her up so she was leaning on him, but upright, and pointed with his now free hand. “That’s Number 12, Grimmauld Place.”

He grinned as her eyes cleared, then lit up with delight. “Excellent. I don’t think I would have had it in me to do that again anyway.”

“Let’s get you inside.” Ron tried to take a step, but Hermione wouldn’t — or _couldn’t_ — move. He scooped her up in his arms, trying not to grunt — she was _tall_ — and carried her into the sitting room that they’d cleared out for working. He cleared all the paper from the sofa with a flick of his wand and gently set her down, before summoning a blanket and draping it over her. 

“You’re so nice to me, Ronald.”

“You’re calling me Ronald in this state?”

“It’s funny. You don’t look like a Ronald. But I call you it any’ay.”

“You’re slurring your words. You’re going to sleep now.”

“Sleep in here w’me? You’re tire’ too.”

“No it’s fine, there’s another sofa—” 

Hermione grabbed his wrist and suddenly he was dragged onto the sofa. “If you insist.” He made the sofa a bit bigger, and curled up beside her, quickly dragged into a deep slumber.

* * *

Bill whipped his wand out as he heard a loud thud against the door, and he pushed his _wife_ — that was weird to think, never mind say — behind a corner.

“I can look after myself—” Fleur started, but Bill cut her off.

“You can come save me, okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

“What was that?” Ginny yelled from upstairs, failing to hide the tremble in her voice.

“Go to Ginny, I’ve got this,” Bill said, leaving no room for argument as he went to the door.

He opened it, surprised to see one Remus Lupin collapsed on the floor. He sighed, shook his head and levitated the unconscious man onto the sofa, before shouting for the girls to come downstairs. The twins continued to work at the shop during the day, despite the Ministry having fallen — then again, with their products surrounding them, there was likely nowhere safer. Ron and Hermione said they were somewhere safe, but couldn’t visit at the moment, but while he worried, Bill trusted them. Charlie had gone to Romania for reinforcements, whatever that meant. Fleur’s parents had gone back to France, since they weren’t fighters, and the rest of the order had scattered.

Ginny came thundering down the stairs, Fleur close on her heels. “What happened?”

Bill looked at the sofa, and Ginny almost screamed.

“From the looks of him, he just had a transformation,” Bill said, “he’ll probably sleep for twelve hours and wake up this evening,” He looked at Ginny and Fleur, “We were going to do the Fidelius around Shell Cottage today, but that can wait until tomorrow — and it will definitely be easier with a third person.”

They didn’t do much that day, spending most of their time anxiously checking up on the sleeping werewolf on the sofa. Bill sent a patronus to the twins asking for a healing potion when they come back, but other than that he just stared at a book, not turning the page. Ginny did… _something_ in her room — she spent a lot of time there since her parents died, and Fleur just...cleaned. She _hated_ cleaning, but when she didn’t know what to do with herself, she’d do it the muggle way.

Remus woke up at ten in the evening, a while after the sun set. He startled Bill with a weak cough, and then said in a raspy voice, “Sorry for dropping in on you like this.”

“Nonsense, it’s great to hear from you. Here, drink this;” Bill thrust the flask at Remus, the twins having brought a few doses of one they’d developed themselves. 

Remus downed the potion, relaxing slightly as it took effect. “So what’s been happening? Moody doesn’t tell me shit.”

Bill stiffened, and Fleur appeared as if summoned, taking a seat beside her husband and leaning against him for support.

“Mum and Dad…well, the death eaters came, and they were asking for Ron and Hermione. And Mum and Dad…”

“They died,” Fleur said softly, hearing how Bill’s voice cracked it’s the effort. Tears traced down Bill and Fleur’s cheeks as Remus gasped in shock.

“They — but how — _dead_ — I’m so sorry — I should go — ”

“You should not,” Fleur said sternly, her Veela powers flaring as she glared at Remus until he sat down.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Bill glanced at Fleur, who nodded, and wiped his eyes. “Be our secret keeper. For — for Shell Cottage?”

“I’d be honoured.”

“Do you want some more sleep? There are a load of spare bedrooms now.”

“I think that would be for the best. Thank you.”

Smiling grimly, Bill showed Remus to their _actual_ spare bedroom — nobody was ready to open their parents’ room, nor Percy’s.

If Bill cried himself to sleep that night, no one had to know. He had to stay strong for the good of the family now.

* * *

After the last potion delivered by Voldemort, no one visited Harry for a long time. At least, he thought it was a long time. He faded in and out of consciousness, fully residing in neither. At the sound of heels clicking against a stone floor, Harry instinctively occluded, and didn’t quite come out afterwards. He got vague impressions from outside — a flash of blades and a high–pitched giggle, a horrid smell and an unbuckled belt, long, sharp fingernails digging into his hips. But he didn’t really know. He was a coward — he was afraid. Afraid of the pain, of reality.

With every visitor, the magic needled against his skin, going deeper each time, the pain increasing. He retreated further into his mind, not quite sure what was real.

Once, something warm settled against his skin — something like home. He’d cautiously ventured forwards out of his mind, looking out of eyes that didn’t feel like his own — but no one was there. Shying away from the pain, he retreated.

Maybe he heard the whisper of quiet footsteps. Maybe not.

He was alone.

* * *

Draco sat on the floor, legs stretched in front of him. He gazed into the fire, watching the flickering embers without really noticing them, his mind whirling with ideas. 

He’d already wandered down to the entrance to the dungeons twice, and there always seemed to be a death eater at the entrance, which was irritating, to say the least. 

He spent all of his time in the potions room. Nobody really came up there, and if they did, they had to deal with Severus’ wrath.

“The fire isn’t going to tell you how to get into the dungeon.” Severus sank into the armchair on the opposite side of the fireplace.

“You told me not to go.”

“And you were going to listen to me?” Draco could hear the laugh in his voice.

“Obviously not.”

Severus huffed softly, and they sat in silence for a few moments. Draco considered stretching his hands towards the fire as well — it was awfully draughty in the manor — but Severus spoke. “On an unrelated note, most of the death eaters are going on a raid to do... _something_ in two days. The Dark Lord doesn’t see fit to send us, since he has so many more pawns.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes it is so, otherwise I wouldn’t have said it. Now it would be... an awful _shame_ if someone were to, say, use a disillusionment charm to go down into the dungeons.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to do this?”

“If you’re going to do this, at least do it so you don’t get caught. They’re going at ten in the morning.”

“Brilliant.”

Draco anxiously waited those two days, doing all of nothing apart from grating on Severus’ nerves by pacing around the room as their potions simmered. On the day of, he ran into Severus’ room an hour earlier than usual, to his displeasure, and spent two hours pacing and casting _hominem revelio_ charms every five minutes. Finally, when there were only three other than himself and Severus, he called out _I’m going!_ , cast a disillusionment charm and a second charm to soften his footsteps, and walked down to the dungeons, sticking to the shadows. He hadn’t come across Nagini in all his time in the manor, but then again, he didn’t spend much time outside of his and Severus’ warded rooms. 

He padded down into the dungeons, creeping even as he knew that his footsteps were silent to any listener with human ears. You could never be too careful.

He went deeper, and deeper, following that gentle tug of the wards down dozens of stone stairs. The air was muggy, and repulsive — his very magic shied away from it. Sure that he was going in the right direction, Draco continued his descent.

It wasn’t a very confusing route — at this point, he was just following a single corridor. He wrinkled his nose as a smell permeated the air, and cast a charm around his face that would filter the air. 

The corridor finally led to a room blocked off by thick metal bars. He frowned and stepped closer — his instincts told him that this was the right room — and recoiled. A boy was curled up on the floor, dressed in rags that did nothing to protect the deep cuts and lacerations that littered every inch of his body. He had his face tucked into his arms, but it did nothing to cushion his head, as he was all skin and bones. His shoulders, elbows, knees — every bone in his body pressed painfully into the stone floor. Even as he slept, he was shaking. And his _hair —_ it was lank, greasy, and... _familiar._

Draco stumbled back a step as the realisation hit him. That wasn’t just _anyone_ from Dumbledore’s side. That was _Potter_.

His head shifted and those electrifyingly green eyes cracked open, likely seeing right through him. Seeing those made something snap in Draco, and suddenly he was running away, because he couldn’t handle the truth of the dungeon.

Draco must have blacked out, because suddenly he was facing a toilet with someone rubbing circles into his back. Not quite ready to face reality, Draco took three deep breaths, before straightening and hoping that his instincts had taken him somewhere safe.

“What was down there?” Severus said softly. “You came sprinting in and just started hurling in my bathroom, so it must have been bad.”

Draco swallowed, forcing himself not to gag. “P— _Potter,”_ he managed to say, before dry–heaving into the toilet.

“What about Po — _he’s_ in the dungeon?”

Draco nodded weakly, not trusting himself.

“You’re sure.” It wasn’t a question.

“Who else has a lightning–bolt scar and green eyes, Severus?”

“I—”

“We need to get him out.”

Severus nodded, likely rendered speechless.

* * *

As soon as Severus heard that _Potter_ , of all people, was in the dungeon, he felt his chest twist. He hadn’t made a promise, exactly — not like the one he made to Narcissa, but as good as. And now the boy was in the dungeon; likely being tortured, if he knew the Dark Lord at all. 

Bellatrix and Fenrir had also spent an awful lot of time away from _‘their Lord’_. Severus shuddered — he knew what their favourite pastimes were. Harry needed to be out immediately.

“How soon can we get him out?” Draco’s skin had taken on a grey tinge, and he was resting his head on the tiled wall. He was clearly in no shape to be breaking old classmates out of dungeons. Not to mention, they didn’t know when the rest of the death eaters would be back — and fighting hoarders of death eaters with an unconscious Potter wouldn’t be good. Not to mention, this would blow their cover, so they’d have to time it _perfectly_. 

“Not now.”

“But he barely looks like he could survive another day!” Draco looked at him with wide, grey eyes, even as his skin paled further thinking about the state of Potter.

“He’s strong — and he can’t die, not while Voldemort is alive, because of that potion.”

“I — that’s true, but we — we still need to get him out.”

“I agree, but there’s nothing we can do, for now.” Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and glaring at the floor, his mind whirling with possibilities. He could easily fight his way out, especially with Draco by his side, who wasn’t bad at duelling; but dragging Potter along with them would be difficult. At the very least…

“How about tonight, if you’re so desperate to get him out.”

“Thank you,” Draco surged up and wrapped his arms around Severus, who stiffened, before relaxing slightly and patting Draco on the back. 

“I don’t know why _you’re_ thanking _me — Potter_ , on the other hand, had better _grovel_ for making me lose my cover.”

* * *

Remus woke with the summer sun — which was ridiculously early, because whoever invented daylight savings was a terrible person. He yawned and stretched, shuffling to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. Around halfway through boiling the water, he was overcome by a sudden fear of Molly storming down the stairs because he was in her kitchen, before realising; _she was dead._ She _and_ Arthur — two more members of the Order — were _dead_.

He sorrowfully continued making his cup of tea, silently mourning the deaths of _another_ two of his close friends. 

He’d drank three cups by the time the kids came down. The look of them made him feel even worse — Bill and Fleur were relatively older, sure, but Ginny was supposed to be going into her seventh year. They were all too young to look so old — haunted eyes, stress lines where they shouldn’t be, battle–weary expressions.

“So,” Fleur said in a transparently fake, cheery voice, “Fidelius after breakfast, yes?”

“Yeah.” Remus pasted on a weak smile and summoned some bacon and eggs, quickly frying them for the rest of the family. After years of living alone, he was quite adept at it — even if his _problem_ meant he didn’t actually have to eat. It was something to do, when he had enough money to buy food.

They made quick work of the food, eating in silence, before Bill and Fleur side–alonged Ginny and Remus, who didn’t know the location.

Remus breathed in the fresh air, deliberately ignoring the memories of coming down to the beach with Sirius, back when everything was okay. Well, as okay as it _could_ be, with a war going on and people dying left and right.

“Who’s doing the spell?” Remus asked, gazing at the little home. It was adorably quaint — probably three bedrooms, single pane windows that somehow added character, vines climbing up trellises and a humble fence that contrasted with the golden sand — a feature that was a rarity in Britain — and a green, glittering sea.

“It’s beautiful,” Ginny breathed, her brown eyes wide.

“Only in the summer. The amount of warming charms this place needs in the winter…it’s going to be a right pain.” Bill smiled softly. “Oh, and Fleur will be the caster, I’m here if something goes wrong, and Ginny is lookout.”

“Shall we begin then? No need to stand around,” Fleur said, her accent becoming slightly more pronounced as she looked around cautiously.

“I don’t see why not.” Bill walked over to the gate, and then deliberately took five, large steps away. “This should give us the maximum radius.”

“So do I just stand next to you? I’ve never done this before.”

“Yep, that should be fine, Remus. Fleur, are you ready?”

“Of course I’m ready.” Fleur flicked her hair and rolled her eyes, but Remus didn’t miss the slight tremor in her voice, and from the look of Bill’s arm around her shoulders, neither did he.

Remus stood in front, with his hand outstretched — he had done his research — and Fleur took it, frowning slightly before she started chanting in Latin. Bill steadily kept his hand on her shoulder, not flinching even as her silvery–blonde hair started to fan out, floating on an invisible wind, despite the wind actually flowing in the same direction that she was facing. Remus winced as he felt the magic flow from him, but as a werewolf, his magic was rather strong just after the full moon — once the exhaustion wore off, that is. He wouldn’t be this strong again until twenty–four hours before the full moon, so really, this was the perfect time. He took a deep breath and relaxed, allowing the magic to flow out of him — and before he knew it, the spell was finished. He took a step and stumbled slightly, but could already feel his core refilling. 

Bill looked up and grinned. “It worked!”

“Brilliant. How do I tell you? Do I point at it? Do I just say ‘Shell Cottage?’”

“Zat did zee trick,” Fleur mumbled, leaning heavily on Bill, who smiled fondly at her.

“Come on, you can have a nap in here…” He said, continuing to murmur under his breath as he carried her in.

Remus tilted his head slightly as he watched them. That should be him and Sirius — When he’d get angry or tired, his French accent would reappear — he’d frequently rant in French, too. Well, he _pretended_ to — Remus secretly learned French and found out Sirius’s angry–sounding tangents were really just dramatic lists of everything he loved about Remus. Remus smiled softly, watching the closed door of the cottage — the softly peeling paint, so close the to steel grey of Sirius’ eyes… 

“Do you know how unnerving it is to watch you watch an empty space wistfully where my brother and his wife disappeared into?” Remus almost fell over as Ginny appeared at his side, only not falling because Ginny grabbed his arm and held him up with a surprisingly strong grip.

“I—” Remus began, but Ginny smiled softly — sadly — and shook her head.

“You really loved him, didn’t you?” She breathed.

Remus nodded towards the cottage. “That’s Shell Cottage.”

Her brown eyes searched his for an unnervingly long amount of time, before she eventually nodded. “Come in when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” Remus said, before walking away. Just for a little while.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s Friday! I am behind, kinda? It shouldn’t screw up my posting schedule though, so don’t worry.
> 
> TW: the usual, I guess :)

Draco frantically stuffed clothes into a magically expanded bag, scooping them out of his wardrobe and stuffing them into the opening. He’d already added all of his books, shoes, and everything that he wanted, leaving his room disconcertingly bare. He cringed as he thought of the creases — _especially_ on the silk items — but he could just use ironing charms once they were out. Severus said he had a hideout which could be used until Potter could take them somewhere safer — his godfather had likely left him somewhere with loads of wards, since he would have been the last living Black who had access to areas. There was a building which Draco knew existed, but not its name or whereabouts — probably under a Fidelius. Hopefully, Potter could get them in.

Having finished emptying his wardrobe, Draco cast a disillusionment charm and a muffling charm on his feet, shouldered the bag (which weighed next to nothing, thankfully) and hastily made his way to Severus’ quarters.

“You’re late.” Severus frowned at him, even as he flicked his wand to put some more potions ingredients in a bag.

“I’m two minutes late. And you’re still packing.”

“Come on Draco, we need to be fast. I think everyone will be asleep, but that’s no reason to let our guard down.” Severus pressed a flask into Draco’s hands. “A rejuvenation potion. We don’t know how long he’s been in there—”

“Six weeks.” Draco interrupted him.

“Well, he’ll definitely need this, then. At least, to get out of the Manor. We don’t know the size of his magical core—”

“Pretty damn big, if lessons are any indication,” Draco interrupted again. _That git could cast a corporeal patronus at thirteen,_ he thought to himself, _the size of his core is probably the only reason he’s still alive._

Severus glared at him. “And even if we _did_ , we don’t know how badly it’s been degraded. Anyhow, he needs to be awake to leave.”

Draco took the flask, and cast the charms. “Follow me.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “How? I can barely hear you.”

Draco sighed, and said “Put your hand on my shoulder — no, that’s my _head_ , how tall do you think I am?”

An invisible hand gripping Draco’s shoulder, he slowly walked out of the room, not wanting to dislodge Severus.

Draco jumped as Severus suddenly hissed in his ear, “You can walk faster than that, you know. I’m not so short that I can’t walk quickly.”

Draco rolled his eyes and sped up.

They made short work of reaching the dungeon, and Severus gasped at the sight of Potter corked up on the floor, causing Draco to crack his neck turning to look at Severus because he _never_ gasps. Potter, surprisingly, didn’t even jump at the sound.

Draco looked behind him and cast a _hominem revelio_ , which revealed an unnervingly high number of people, but they were far away. “This is probably keyed to allow my father’s blood in, and therefore me, but would you just put up some wards to warn us if someone comes?” Draco murmured quietly.

“I can’t believe you’re ordering me around,” Severus replied, but his hand left Draco’s shoulder. He was likely happy to have something to do that wasn’t looking at Potter’s emaciated form.

Draco waved his wand at the door, which lit up with strings in many colours, representing the various wards, and…yep. He just had to put his hand on the gate. However…there was a bright green thread that led out of the room, and Draco was willing to bet that it would notify Lucius as soon as he opened the door. 

“Severus, we’ve got a problem.” Draco hissed. 

“What?”

“Lucius will know as soon as I open this door, and the wards are so intricate that I can’t stop it from happening.”

“We’ll have to be quick then.” Severus sighed and hazarded a glance at the boy in the cell. His eyes were opened but glazed over, and he didn’t react to them at all. “I could easily levitate him out and up, then we could wake him up at the safe house.”

“We’ll have to do that, then. Ready to run?”

“Just open the door.”

Draco grimaced, and held out his hand to the door. He felt a stream of magic being absorbed into the door, and stepped in, before abruptly stumbling out.

“The stones are really powerful. Just take him, we don’t have much time.”

Severus flicked his wand — well, Draco _assumed_ he did, since he couldn’t see him — and Harry’s body was hoisted over Severus’s shoulder as they started to run up the stone stairs, their heavy footsteps and breathing no longer hidden by the muffling charms. They tore through the entrance hall, Draco almost falling down the steps outside of the door. He thought he just might make it, before he heard a loud screech.

“GET THEM!” Draco quickly glanced behind him, and the sight might have been funny had there not been green lights heading straight for them; all the death eaters in the household were running full pelt for Draco and Severus, in their various nightshirts and nightgowns — Bellatrix’s was unnervingly pink, and her hair was even more unruly than usual. The Dark Lord himself was standing on the steps in what looked like black pyjamas. Draco stopped and easily flung two stunners at the killing curses, thankful for his impeccable aim as they were stopped in mid–air, before sprinting to catch up with Severus and Potter.

“We should — probably — be a bit — quicker,” Draco panted, feet pounding on the dry grass. “DUCK!” he added, and two flashes of green flew over their heads.

“We’re — almost — there,” Severus replied. “Open the gate!”

Draco flung his hand out, magic coursing through his body alongside the adrenaline, negating the need for a wand. The gate opened with a creak, and Draco and Severus flung themselves around the corner of a wall to get out of the line of fire. Severus tightened his grip on Harry, placed his free hand on Draco’s arm and apparated into the night

* * *

Narcissa hadn’t really slept since Draco came home for the holidays.

Well it wasn’t really _her_ house, anymore — she certainly didn’t regard it as such.

Therefore, she was very much awake when her husband abruptly stormed out of the room, and when the rest of the death eaters started charging down the corridors. She followed slowly, putting on slippers and a robe before padding down the corridors. 

She watched from the shadows as green flashes of light flew across the grounds, flinching as they hit the ground just behind the two — three? — figures sprinting across the ground. 

She winced as the Dark Lord roared “GET THEM!”, squinting to try and figure out who the two people were. One turned and flung two red stunners at the killing curses, the impeccable aim stopping the curses in midair—

She only knew one person who could do that.

Draco.

She might have screamed, but her throat had closed up with terror. She watched in horror as Draco — and probably Severus — ducked below another two killing curses. She discreetly flicked her wand at Bellatrix and Rabastan, who’s curses immediately started going wide. She considered firing one at the Dark Lord, but the figures had disappeared around the corner. Satisfied they were safe, she cast two discrete _finites_ and stepped out, making her body language subdued and widening her eyes, playing the worried wife.

“Lucius, what happened?” She asked, her voice soft.

“Draco,” he sneered, “and Severus escaped with the…prisoner.”

“Prisoner?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, my dear.” 

“Lucius.” The Dark Lord looked positively murderous. His skin had grown paler — a waxy yellow in the moonlight — and his eyes glowed dangerously red. “I thought your son didn’t know about the prisoner.”

Lucius knelt, as did Narcissa, swallowing back bile as she did so, carefully occluding and avoiding the Dark Lord’s gaze. The role of a pure blood woman; don’t be seen, don’t be heard, don’t be noticed.

“I’m sorry, my Lord. I didn’t think he did either. Evidently, I was wrong.”

“ _Crucio_.” The Dark Lord’s voice was soft, coldly calm, as he directed the unforgivable towards Narcissa’s husband.

She spared a glance to the side, disappointed at the lack of emotion she felt at the sight of her husband — the man she was supposed to love — being tortured. Then again, it wasn’t a surprise. The little amount of love she’d felt towards him had dissipated; maybe when he took the dark mark, definitely by the time he’d forced their only son to.

_Draco…_

She had to trust Severus. Trust the promise he’d made, to keep their son safe. Surely that was why he’d left, too — he wouldn’t blow his cover even for something like this, so it must have been Draco’s idea. They’d probably already made it to Severus’s home by now, and she didn’t think the Dark Lord knew about it…

The Dark Lord lifted the Crucio, and turned to his still able followers. “Spinner’s End. Bring the traitors back.” 

A cold hand clenched Narcissa’s heart. Severus was resourceful, but that was the only location he could take them to, and all of the Malfoy holiday homes were too far to apparate to. So they’d be sleeping on the streets, or dead.

She might have apparated, gone after them, but she had nothing with her at the moment, and no way to help them. 

Instead, she gracefully rose to her feet, and observed from the shadows.

The Dark Lord was furious — Lucius was the only one of his followers still present, and was receiving the brunt of his anger, in the form of the cruciatus curse. She couldn’t help but think that he was getting what he deserved, as blood dribbled from his mouth as he bit his tongue.

She held in her sigh of relief as the death eaters came back, reporting that they’d apparated away, and they couldn’t trace where they’d gone other than that it was in London. Likely a building under the fidelius, they said.

She knew that this was somewhere the prisoner — whoever that was — had taken them, since the Malfoys had never been big fans of cities. _Who was important enough for Draco_ and _Severus to break their cover for?_

She looked on in satisfaction as death eater after death eater was put under the cruciatus. Karma, for trying to hurt her son. _Why_ they followed the Dark Lord willingly, after he did this to them on a regular basis, she would never understand.

She walked upstairs on silent feet as they were dismissed, and considered leaving then and there. Without Draco coming back, there was nothing keeping her tied here.

However, she had no idea where Draco and Severus were — and until she did, staying here could probably result in her gaining valuable information for them. Even so, she packed a bag with everything she’d want if she had to leave in a hurry. No need to be unprepared.

* * *

Harry felt the warm magic wrap around him and kept still, not wanting to be removed from this dream. He hadn’t had a dream in weeks, to his knowledge, and this was wonderful — the magic gently caressed his skin, chasing away the chill of the dungeon and soothing the cuts. It might have even stopped the bleeding.

Harry’s heart might have stopped when he was levitated out of the cell, but it was...different. The magic was painful, but Harry couldn’t feel any hostility in the way it carried him, nor could he hear their hushed whispers, as his consciousness was still tucked away in that safe pocket of his mind where nothing could hurt him.

A flash of green passed outside Harry’s eyelids, and Harry might have flinched — but then again, _avada kedavra_ couldn’t be the most painful way to go. And he _was_ a horcrux, after all — dying could do more good than harm.

Suddenly, he had the vague impression of air rushing against his face as his body was jostled, and then a wave of _pain_ passed over him, as the other magic — the painful one — wrapped around him and _pulled_ him to another location, and he couldn’t breathe because he was being compressed between two beds of needles—

Now he could breathe again, and he was somewhere…unfamiliar. The area where the little ball of warmth had resided — the one that had grown cold three days ago — didn’t quite feel so cold. Even as the painful magic tried to brush against his skin, the other one — the warm one — created a shield around his body.

Regardless of how much better he was feeling, Harry was decidedly unimpressed when a painful spell dragged him out of his dissociation — likely from the source of the painful magic — and found himself looking into grey eyes. _Familiar_ grey eyes. His mind spun trying to place them, and then it hit him, and he tried to scramble back before realising that he was suffering from malnutrition and injured pretty much _everywhere_ and generally just not capable of movement.

“No need to be scared, Potter, now drink this.” Harry tore his eyes from Malfoy to see Snape, looking greasy but…concerned?

Harry still tried to convey his distrust via facial expression, and Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Potter, how idiotic can you be? We just _saved_ you from there, now for Merlin’s sake _drink the fucking potion.”_

Harry rolled his eyes, mirroring Snape (how odd), and might have almost laughed when the man murmured “language.” He tried to lift his arm to pick up the flask, and glared at the offending arm when it refused to move.

“I can’t—” Harry coughed, trying to clear his throat and make it a little less croaky. “I can’t pick it up.” The cough didn’t work, he still sounded _awful_.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and snatched the flask from Snape, uncorking it and, surprisingly gently, pouring it’s contents down Harry’s throat.

Harry reached up to wipe his mouth, immediately staring at his arm in surprise. “That’s fast acting.” He grinned — his voice was by no means back to normal, but it was ten times better than before. It suddenly occurred to him that he’d just been rescued by the two people he’d hated most at Hogwarts. Other than Umbridge. And Crouch Junior. And Quirrell. Still quite high up.

“Thank you, for…you know. Saving me and stuff.” As the sudden burst of energy receded, Harry found himself overcome to climb into a bed — preferable a soft one, with a thick duvet, and maybe a hot water bottle — and sleep for a week.

“Eloquent as always, Potter. No, don’t close your eyes, we have stuff to do.” Snape sneered, albeit half–heartedly.

“More stuff?”

“This place isn’t exactly secret — the death eaters will likely check here as soon as they’re dressed.” As if they were summoned, a series of cracks sounded from outside of the door. Harry tried to sit up and look around — he was still too weak to do anything other than flop on the floor like a wet fish — but gathered they were in a house, with slightly rotted floorboards.

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Can you take us somewhere else?” Snape’s gentle tone was _really_ creeping Harry out.

“I have no magic, otherwise I’d say Grimmauld.”

“Grimmauld…” Snape sighed. “I remember it, but it’s under a fidelius, so I can’t apparate there. Since you’re technically the ‘master’ of the house, the fidelius doesn’t affect you, so you’d be able to apparate us, except…”

“I can’t apparate.” Harry sighed, before looking at Malfoy, who looked oddly pensive. “Any ideas, Malfoy?”

The corners of his mouth turned down. “One. But it’s risky.”

“Well we’re cornered, and don’t have many — _any_ — ideas.” Harry never thought he’d live to see the day he and Snape would agree on anything.

“Well, there was one legend about a spell that allowed wizards to share magic. It’s called the _Anamchara_ ritual, and it’s rather quick, but _very_ risky. The sharer’s magic has to be extremely compatible with the other wizard—”

“Everyone’s magic hurts me except one of you two.”

“What do you mean _‘hurts you’_?” Snape frowned.

“Like...when one of you apparated me it felt like there were needles piercing my skin. But the other person’s magic doesn’t hurt at all.” Harry deliberately avoided both of their gazes, but noted, out of the corner of his eye, the rising flush on Malfoy’s neck.

 _“I_ apparated us.” Snape was… _smirking_ at Malfoy. 

“Alright, let’s do this then. I need a knife.” Malfoy held out his hand expectantly.

“A _knife_?” In his mind’s eye, Harry saw Bellatrix weirding multiple silver knives, hurling them at him as he lay, unmoving, on the floor—

“It’s blood magic, Potter, why do you think it’s so dangerous?”

Snape tossed a knife to Malfoy — a small one with a wooden handle — and winced. “The wards aren’t going to hold for much longer. Hurry up.”

Draco sighed and easily sliced the knife across his right palm, before raising his eyebrows expectantly at Harry. Harry’s eyes were clouded as he held out his left hand, but he didn’t wince as the knife was dragged across his palm. He _did_ flinch a little when Malfoy took his hand in his (“ _Honestly_ , Potter, what were you expecting me to do?”) and started waving his wand in an elaborate celtic knot, murmuring the incantation. Harry noted in a delirious state — he was probably going to faint in a minute — the stark difference in colour between Malfoy’s pale hand and his own coffee–coloured skin, with the words “ _I must not tell lies_ ” etched on the back, before he reeled with the experience of having _magic_ again as it flowed through his veins, lighting his core and causing electricity to crackle through his hair.

“Hurry up, Potter, I don’t have _that_ much magic,” Malfoy groaned, and Harry looked to his left to see that Malfoy _did_ look like he was in pain.

“Professor?” Harry held out his right hand, and Snape rolled his eyes before delicately placing his hand in Harry’s. Harry snorted lightly at the expression on his face, and closed his eyes, concentrating on Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

Distantly, the door banged open as masked men barged through, but they were already gone.

Harry landed on his feet in the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place, the hallway a bit narrow for the three of them. Mrs. Black started her screaming, and Ron and Hermione came thundering down the stairs, wands brandished. 

“Hey guys,” Harry said, and promptly fainted.

* * *

Ron was _just_ working up the courage to perhaps, maybe, possibly, put his arm around Hermione while she was reading, when Walburga’s screeching made him fall off the sofa. He and Hermione exchanged a worried glance, before sprinting down the stairs, hexes on the tips of their tongues.

They had _not_ been expecting Snape and _Malfoy_ , of all people, to be at the door, crammed into the narrow corridor, with Harry — only identifiable by his glasses and distinctively green eyes — draped between them. He grinned, lifting his head even as a nasty cut across his collarbones split open, and slurred a greeting before collapsing, leaving the two death eaters to catch him. 

The four conscious people stared at each other for an uncomfortable five seconds, before Hermione broke the silence. “We should probably get him down somewhere.”

“That’s a good idea, Miss Granger.” Ron could only watch in shock as Hermione led them into the downstairs sitting room, allowing them to gently lay him on the sofa, before standing, both of them looking surprisingly awkward.

“Nice of you to drop in like this.” Ron crossed his arms, his gaze trained on Malfoy.

Malfoy shifted, opening his mouth to spit some response, when Snape laid a hand on his shoulder. Malfoy glared at him, and they had some silent conversation, which ended in Malfoy mirroring Ron’s stance and looking quite sulky.

“We do not mean to cause any arguments. We only found out about Potter earlier today and had to get him out.” Snape’s words were carefully chosen, and clearly directed at Hermione.

Hermione had clearly been listening, but Ron saw that she still found it difficult to tear her gaze away from Harry. Ron wasn’t surprised — he’d expected him to look bad, but he was covered in dried blood, his clothes were dirty and torn, his hair was limp and greasy and his face was hollow. His clothes were even baggier than normal, hanging limply off his skinny frame, and Ron shuddered to think of what damage had been done underneath.

“I — I don’t know what to say.” Ron’s heart broke to see Hermione look so… _lost_. “This is a lot to take in. We suspected something was wrong, but for him to be in this state…we can’t thank you enough. Do you need somewhere to stay? This is a big house, after all.” 

In his mind, Ron was screaming _“NO!”_ But he tried his best not to react. After all, they _did_ bring back Harry. Even if they were both greasy gits.

“That would be…nice. I did have my own house, but the death eaters were chasing us from there.”

“How did you even get _in_ here? There’s a fidelius over the entire building!” Ron frowned.

Hermione fondly rolled her eyes. “Harry’s the master of the house, so he’d be able to apparate in no matter _how_ many wards we put up, and bring who he wants with him.”

“He doesn’t look like he’s in any state to apparate _himself_ , never mind an extra two fully grown wizards.” Ron nodded at Harry, and then the two fully grown wizards in question. As if that sentence triggered something, Malfoy swooned, almost collapsing onto Snape.

“He gave Potter his magic using the _anamchara_ bond. Apparently, Potter takes a lot of magic.”

Hermione looked at Malfoy in surprise. “Your magic is compatible with Harry’s?”

“Yes.” The first word Malfoy said since coming into the house was laced with defiance, his stance shifting into something slightly more hostile, even as most of his weight was still on Snape.

Hermione hummed, looking between him and Harry. “He’s got a massive magical core, so it’s not surprising he’d use all of your magic — the amount of magical interference that comes with him casting a spell is unreal.”

“Do you mind if we can go sleep somewhere? Not that Draco would admit it, but he’s dead on his feet.”

“Yes, of course, right this way Professor.” Hermione shooed Ron out of the room. He sighed and reluctantly turned his back on Harry, standing just outside of the room. As soon as Snape and Malfoy left the room, however, Harry shifted and groaned. Ron felt fear spike in his chest and ran back into the room, briefly stopping to throw a dirty look at Malfoy as he passed.

“Harry, mate, what’s wrong?” Ron knelt beside Harry, laying the back of his hand against Harry’s forehead. He was burning up, but also shaking with full body tremors.

“What’s happening?” Hermione watched anxiously nearby, clearly stressed because she didn’t really know what to do.

Snape swept into the room, a frown creasing his features. “He’s been in a cell which absorbs all his magic, so he doesn’t really have a magical core at the moment. It will heal,” he added, as Ron and Hermione turned towards him with horrified looks on their faces, “but it will take a bit of time. He was only able to apparate us here because Draco allowed him full access to his magic—”

“Why _Malfoy_?” Ron interrupted.

Snape shot him a nasty look. Then again, he’d never been particularly fond of Ron, who was responsible for at least a third of the potions accidents that occurred in their classes. “Because according to Potter, he’s the only person who’s magic doesn’t _hurt_.”

“Then maybe…” Hermione looked between Malfoy, and then Snape, and _they_ had a silent conversation. Ron was really getting fed up of everyone communicating through glances.

“I think you’re right, Miss Granger. Draco, come here for a minute.” Malfoy stalked into the room, frowning at Snape. “Put your hand on Potter’s forehead.”

“ _What_?” Ron and Malfoy said, and then looked at each other with distaste.

“You heard me. Now do it.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and obeyed, and immediately Harry stopped shaking. 

“Well this is going to be a fun few weeks,” Hermione said.

Snape’s lip curled, and he almost — _almost_ — laughed.

“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Malfoy said, and Ron might have echoes the sentiment had it not been said by _Malfoy_.

“You need to stay close to Potter at all times, or he won’t heal. Or if he does, his progress will be extremely slow.”

Malfoy paled. “And no one else can do this.”

“We can check to see if Mr Weasley and Miss Granger can do it when Potter’s conscious, but for now you two should probably share a bed.” Ron snorted at Malfoy’s expression, who looked horrified.

“It’s just for a night, Malfoy. Probably.” Hermione added, snickering.

Malfoy looked between the three in shock — or maybe it was dread — before coming to the conclusion that he wasn’t getting a say in the matter. “As long as we have the biggest bed.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance. “That’s fine by us. Can you bring him up with your magic, somehow?”

“I think I can manage a little _wingardium leviosa_.” Malfoy sneered haughtily, flicking his wand at Harry who lifted rather gracefully from the sofa. Ron itched to tackle the blonde git and carry Harry himself, but if his magic hurt Harry…he’d clearly been through a lot.

Ron and Hermione led him up to the master bedroom, free of hippogriff feathers (even if the smell lingered a bit) and with a huge, four–poster bed with clean sheets.

Malfoy deposited Harry on the bed surprisingly gently, before wrinkling his nose and waving his wand in a wide sweep and muttering under his breath, causing the room to suddenly smell of lavender. A glance to his right confirmed to Ron that Hermione was itching to ask Malfoy what the spell was, but Ron gently shook his head and muttered “tomorrow.”

“We’ll see you in the morning, Malfoy. Professor, you can sleep in this room over here…”

Ron really wanted to stay and check on Harry, and Hermione would probably be fine with Snape, but the looks Malfoy was sending him were extremely hostile. 

“Not a toe out of line, Malfoy.”

“As if I’d do anything to the _Golden Boy_ , Weaselbee.”

Malfoy huffed and sneered at him, and Ron rolled his eyes and walked out. Malfoy was a Slytherin, and Slytherins would do anything to save their won hide…and after betraying You–Know–Who, he probably knows that the Order is his only option. At least until he gets some money, and can run away.

Ron saw Hermione bidding Snape farewell, and frowned. 

“I’m sorry I gave him your room, but it’s the only other clean room in this place, and mine has my bras and stuff…”

“Don’t worry, ‘Mione, it’s fine. Are we both sleeping in your room then?”

“Yeah.” She pulled a face. “I’ll clear out another room so you don’t have to put up with me for too long — none of the rooms are particularly bad since it’s only been abandoned for a year, instead of twelve.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’re a great roommate.” Ron really hoped he wasn’t blushing, but was pretty sure he was as Hermione’s gaze flicked to his ears and she smiled softly.

“Come on, I’ll transfigure something into a bed.”

“Cheers, ‘Mione.” Ron yawned, following her into the bedroom. 

* * *

Draco’s eyes snapped open. He didn’t move, careful not to dislodge the arm draped over him—

Wait, _what?_

The events of yesterday suddenly hit him. He was in the Black Townhouse, sharing a bed with _Harry Potter_ , who he’d just rescued from his _basement_ where his father had installed a _magic sucking dungeon_. Merlin, his life was fucked.

He shifted his head slightly to hear the whispers directly outside his door — what were Granger and Weasley doing up at this horrid hour anyway?

“I just want to see him, make sure he’s okay—”

“ _Hermione_ , he is _sleeping_! You’ll wake him up!” Weasley hissed, and Draco raised an eyebrow as the door opened anyway. He could make whatever expressions he wanted — he was facing away from the door, anyway.

“He looks so _fragile..._ like he could die in his sleep,” Granger whispered, and Draco resisted the urge to turn over to see if what she said was true.

“You know, he technically _can’t_ die.” Draco smirked as Severus had apparently appeared in the doorway, eliciting small gasps from Weasley and Granger.

“Excuse me? I know he survived the killing curse a couple of times, but he’s not _immortal_ —” Granger begun, and Draco could practically hear Severus rolling his eyes.

“No, he actually _is_. The Dark Lord administered a potion which makes him physically, magically and spiritually unable to die. Unless _he_ kills him, of course; but something tells me there’s a reason he’s keeping Potter alive.” His voice was laced with sarcasm, and Draco was surprised Severus wasn’t making much of an effort to be quiet; then again, he probably knew that Draco had been awake since the door opened. He _had_ always been a light sleeper — that was common knowledge in the Slytherin house.

“How do you know this?” Of _course_ Granger was suspicious of Severus. Never mind the fact that he’d rescued the Golden Boy.

Despite his innocence, Severus sounded pained. “Because I’m the one who brewed it.”

“You WHAT?” Weasley shouted, and a thud quickly followed — probably Granger stamping on his foot — before all three waited in silence with baited breath. Draco tried his best to keep his breathing even, and apparently he passed their test, as Weasley started whispering furiously.

“So you just _happen_ to turn up in our house with Harry, practically dead, and _Malfoy_ of all people, and expect us to _trust_ you, after you tell us that you were brewing potions with _You–Know–Who’s blood_ in it?”

Snape sighed. “ _That potion_ is what tipped us off about Potter being down there in the first place. You think we _want_ to work for him? We are _enslaved_ .” Draco heard some fabric shift — probably Severus showing them the Dark Mark. “This is a _brand_ . For me, this was a foolish decision that I made as a teenager. For _Draco_ , well, he had _no choice_ — but the Dark Lord doesn’t care about that. He sees us as _cattle_ , and these marks are nothing more than earmarks.” Draco could hear Severus panting after his rant, and felt a single tear slide down his cheek. 

Granger sounded a little choked up herself as she said “how — what potion is it?”

“I don’t know.” Severus sighed. “He just gave us a vial of his blood and the recipe, but without the name. I could replicate it, I suppose…it wasn’t too different from a regular healing potion—”

Granger sounded shocked. “But — but that’s blood magic! That’s _illegal!_ ”

Draco almost laughed — _everything_ the Dark Lord was illegal, after all, but Weasley beat him to the punch. That wiped the smile off his face — agreeing with a _Weasley_ was the _last_ thing he wanted to do.

“You really think You–Know–Who cares about it being illegal? He _murders_ people, ‘Mione. That’s, like, his _whole thing_. Besides, that whole magic–sharing–thing Harry did was illegal, too.”

Draco, deciding that he’d heard enough, shifted his legs, trying his best not to rouse Potter while making them know he was ‘waking up’.

Weasley and Granger physically jumped, and Severus huffed lightly. “Perhaps this wasn’t the best place to have this conversation, Miss Granger.”

Draco could almost _feel_ Granger’s glare as she walked out, Weasley following close behind.

“Enjoy that, Draco?” Severus whispered, making Draco jolt in surprise.

“It was…informative,” he murmured in reply.

“You’ll be in for a grilling when you come downstairs,” Severus said, sweeping out of the room before Draco could reply.

Draco sighed softly, closing his eyes in an attempt to get a little more sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione’s gaze kept flicking to Ron as she talked to Severus — he’d told her to call him as such, since they were sharing living quarters now. She knew he didn’t trust the man, just because he was a little biased in point taking, despite the fact that he’d been a spy for Dumbledore since he was seventeen. She’d tried to talk to him last night, but no such luck. He was just too biased against Slytherins, between their various feuds and the opinions on blood status. He was staring daggers at Severus while his hands turned red, burning from bring wrapped around a mug of scalding tea. She huffed lightly as he gulped his tea and coughed slightly to cover his splutter. She saw that Severus had also noticed, as the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

“So you see, Miss Granger, the bond is the only thing keeping them alive. It is weakening the Dark Lord a small amount — not enough to cause him any difficulties, but he’s slowly feeding small quantities of magic into Potter.”

“So there’s no way to remove the blood bond?” Hermione tilted her head, continuing to watch Ron out of the corner of her eye.

“Only if he’s killed by the Dark Lord,” he made a face, “but the potion relies quite a bit on Ancient Magic, so of course _love_ plays a role as well. True love has a lot of leverage over Ancient Magic, as you might know.”

Hermione swallowed. “Like Sacrificial Protection.”

Something indecipherable flickered across Severus’ face before he continued. “True love has the power to override the bond, although I’m not sure about removing it,” he sneered, “but even if there was a less lethal way to remove it, Miss Granger, I would advise against it. Potter would likely die without it — at least, before his magical core heals. The best thing to start with would be to find out how to do spells to monitor Potter’s vitals, magical core, and start brewing more healing potions. I brought as much as I could with me, of course, but we’ll need to start brewing as soon as possible.”

“Well, this is a big, pure blood house, so there’s probably a brewing room somewhere. Would Malfoy have visited here? I think I saw his mother’s name on the family tree…”

“He might have. We should ask Draco—”

“Ask me what?” Hermione jumped, her hand instinctively going for her wand as she spun around. At the sight of Malfoy, she sighed and sat back down. A glance at Ron revealed that Ron was sneering with disgust at him. It was just childish of him, at this point — Malfoy had brought Harry back, for goodness sake. Perhaps they shouldn’t trust the Slytherin indubitably, but they could at least be civil and give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Whether or not you know of a brewing room here, since Walburga would have been your…” Hermione turned to Severus, “Grandmother?”

“Great aunt.”

Malfoy grimaced, “I don’t, but I could probably find one — there were all sorts of hidden rooms around here, I used to look for them when we visited.” He shuddered slightly. “It’s a horrid place — kind of like a haunted house. It looks better now, despite the dust.”

Ron, who’d been growing steadily redder since the blond had walked into the room, snarled, “Well we have better things to do than clean, Malfoy. Aren’t you supposed to be with Harry right now anyway? What with your _compatible cores_ and stuff?” Hermione held in her sigh and settled for an eye roll.

“I think Potter will survive an hour or two without me, Weasley.” Hermione was finding it extremely difficult to hold in her giggles at the contrast between the tomato–red Ron and relaxed Malfoy. A glance to her side showed Severus’ eyes glinting with mirth, even as he frowned. “Anyway, I wanted breakfast.” 

“Help yourself,” Hermione interrupted, waving a hand at the table. Malfoy nodded his thanks, slathering a slice of toast with copious amounts of raspberry jam, somehow taking a bite without spilling a drop. “So I guess the next question is, what do we do next? We have to defeat Voldemort — or get Harry ready to — and there’s some…other stuff me and Ron need to do as well.”

“I take it you’re not going to tell Draco and myself about the ‘other’ stuff?”

“Only me, Harry, Ron and Dumbledore — and Voldemort,” she added as an afterthought, not missing how everyone else at the table flinched at the name, “know about it. So no.”

“But it’s the reason for the Dark Lord not killing Potter on sight?”

“Probably. We’d have to ask him that, when he wakes up. Until then…do you know what the Order’s been doing in the last few weeks?”

Severus frowned. “I haven’t really been in contact with the order…Professor Dumbledore was the only person I really spoke to, and he’s been away for the last six weeks.”

“Yeah, he wasn’t at Hogwarts for the last three weeks of term. Ron and I thought it was a bit weird, but we knew he and Harry were going on a mission. And then Harry got captured at some point…maybe Dumbledore is still looking for him?” She saw Ron roll his eyes, but shot a glare before turning back to Severus. Ron’s theory made sense, but Dumbledore was a wise and powerful wizard — it was entirely possible that he broke the fidelius for his own reasons. It was certainly possible that he wasn’t _dead._

“Doesn’t make sense for Dumbledore to have kept everything under wraps — at the very least, if he’d told me that Potter was missing, I could have checked around Malfoy Manor at least three weeks ago. Then again, he was a very secretive old man. He probably had his reasons.”

“Should we try to contact him, then?” Ron asked into the heavy silence that followed.

“We could send him an owl under a disillusionment charm, so that it didn’t give away his location.” Hermione bit her lip — she wasn’t sure that Dumbledore would be able to be found by an owl, if he was in hiding. Their magic was good, but not that good.

“We’ll send Hedwig later today, then. She’s still hanging around, right?” Ron pushed his chair back, as if he was ready to go that minute.

“She’d a very recognisable owl, Ron — we’ll have to glamour her feathers on top of the disillusionment charm.”

“Yeah, well, glamours aren’t that hard. What about Harry?” Ron pulled his chair back under and grabbed an apple.

“This place has a massive library; it probably has loads of books on healing.”

“I have a few with me as well.” Malfoy cut in. Hermione turned to him in surprise, and he rolled his eyes. “I do read, Granger — I was second in all my classes, after yourself.” Hermione was surprised to hear no bitterness in his voice.

“Well, we could start with those, since we definitely know what’s in them — diagnosis charms would probably be the first thing, since we need to know what to focus on.”

“There’s one I can do which shows the state of a person’s magical core, which will be needed since Potter spent at least six weeks in a cell that drained his magic.”

“Six weeks? But he sent us a letter six weeks ago…” Hermione trailed off.

“Remember all the little things that were wrong with that letter, ‘Mione? They probably forced him to write it.” 

“And we didn’t even get the hints. We convinced ourselves that everything was fine.” 

“We can’t beat ourselves up _now_ , Hermione.”

“Yeah…I suppose you’re right. Still, _six weeks_ of having his magic drained? He shouldn’t be alive!”

“Yes, well, we all know Potter is immune to death.” Snape rolled his eyes. “And the blood potion will keep him alive, as we have established. Perhaps the most important thing would be to check who’s magic is compatible with his; if one of you is also compatible, then we could keep one person with Potter at all times to speed up his recovery.”

“And if we’re not?”

“Draco will be spending an awful lot of quality time with Potter.” Hermione held back a giggle at the rate at which Malfoy’s face paled.

“So when can we start with the diagnostic charms?” Hermione asked. Malfoy shot her a relieved glance — a surreal experience — before answering.

“Most of the ones that measure his physical health can be done when he’s unconscious, but to do the one to measure his magical core has to be done when he’s conscious, otherwise it could disrupt the stability. That wouldn’t normally be an issue, but his has undergone so much stress over the last few weeks, we can’t do anything to jeopardise it.”

“Okay…Severus, do you know any diagnostic spells?”

“I’ve never been the one to do them, so no, but they don’t look very difficult, from what I’ve seen — it should only take two days at most to learn how to do them.”

“So Hermione learn how to do the spell and—”

Severus rolled his eyes. “No, Mr Weasley, Draco will have to be the one to cast the diagnostic spells until we know who’s magic is compatible with Potter’s.”

Ron slumped back in his chair. “So what are we doing until then?”

“We are in a war, Mr Weasley; and I am very knowledgeable in the area of defence against the dark arts, and could teach yourselves.” Ron blanched as Severus continued. “Also, I don’t know what the Order is up to, so we should probably organise a meeting.”

“The Order?” Malfoy asked. All three of their heads snapped to him. “You don’t _have_ to tell me what it is, but it would be nice to know.”

 _He did bring Harry back_ , Hermione thought grudgingly. “The Order of the Phoenix is basically our side that fights against Voldemort.”

Malfoy nodded his thanks. “So who’s in it? Weasley’s family, I’d assume — Professor Lupin — the aurors that aren’t taking bribes — some of the other professors?”

Ron had paled at the mention of his family. Hermione looked at him, and then back to Malfoy. “Ron’s parents…well—” She bit her lip and glanced at Ron, not wanting to reveal something so personal for him.

“My parents sacrificed themselves.” Ron finished in a low voice, Hermione looking at him in surprise. “Bill, Fleur and the twins are in it, and Charlie helps out when he can.”

“Molly and Arthur?” Severus looked openly shocked.

“You–Know–Who was after me and ‘Mione.” He lifted his chin, and even as tears lined his eyes, his voice held steady. “They polyjuiced into us and sacrificed their lives instead, because me and Hermione have information that can defeat him.”

Severus looked down at his lap. “I’m sorry. They were good people.”

A heavy silence hung around the table. Ron abruptly stood and clapped his hands together, startling everyone else. “Okay, that’s enough, we have stuff to do. Malfoy, you said you brought some books; look through them for diagnostic charms, and, I don’t know, try to learn them? Oh, and sit with Harry — even if you’re not doing anything, your magic is good for him, right? The rest of us will look through the library for more books on healing for a couple of hours, and then…I guess you can practice the spells on Snape.”

“While we’re here, we might as well start calling everyone by their first names. Just…to provide a nicer atmosphere?” Everyone glared at Hermione, but she glared right back. “Come on, don’t be children. We’re all of age, we can act like adults for a little while _._ ”

“Debatable,” Severus muttered.

Malfoy — Draco — rolled his eyes. “Alright, I’ll go get my books. They’re all in the room with Pot—” he caught Hermione glaring at him, “Harry. In the room with Harry.”

Hermione huffed lightly as the blonde turned and went up the stairs, his steps falling a little heavier than they needed to. She turned to Ron. “Library?”

He nodded. “Library.”

* * *

Draco sighed softly as he quietly closed the door behind him, trying his best not to wake the sleeping boy. Not because he actually _cared_ about P–Harry — rather, he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t have to deal with the irritable git. 

Harry was already looking a bit better, after a night’s sleep. Somehow, his hair was a little shinier, and looked a little thicker, and the shadows under his eyes had lessened. He didn’t look _good_ , but he looked better. 

He tore his eyes away from the sleeping figure and went over to his bag, removing the books and setting them up in neat piles in the corner, cringing as they settled on the dusty floor. There wasn’t anywhere else for them to go, but he still hated mistreating them. He’d have to clean them when he left.

He scanned the titles, making a new pile with a flick of his wand that consisted of eight books. He could have gotten more, but these would do, for now.

He opened the first book, sitting on the dusty, velvet stool at the end of the bed. That should be close enough to Harry.

As he skimmed the lines of text, which were horridly small and in cursive, of all things, his gaze kept drifting to Harry. He still remembered how he’d reached for Draco in his sleep as he’d had left the bed, the little whimper that had escaped his mouth. Draco had almost stayed, but as his stomach rumbled, he settled for a small warming charm. If he smiled fondly as Harry relaxed and burrowed a little further under the duvet, looking surprisingly adorable…well, no one needed to know that.

He was on the fourth book when the rabble and Severus came barging through the door with what must have been half of the library hovering behind them.

Draco told them so, to which Grang–Hermione replied, “well then, it’s a good job we’re in the biggest room, then, isn’t it?”

Severus had demoted him to the floor and taken the stool, although not before transfiguring it into a rather nice sofa. Draco sat as far away from Weasley as possible, even if that did mean sitting next to Gr– _Hermione_. On the floor. This was humiliating.

“Can we not get some chairs?” Draco said, leaning against the bedpost.

“I don’t know about you, Hermione, but I’m quite comfortable, here,” Weasley smirked at him, and Draco sneered back. Hermione just looked amused.

“Shut up, the pair of you.” The eye-roll was audible in Severus’ voice. “You’ll survive a small amount of time on the floor—”

“Hypocrite,” Draco muttered.

“—Because you’re _young_ , unlike me.”

Draco glared at Severus, before turning back to his book, allowing the conversation of the others to wash around him.

* * *

As the last rays of golden sunlight illuminated the sand, making it sparkle like glitter, Remus decided that he should probably go into Shell Cottage. At some point during the day, one of the kids had left out a meal for him — it was still on the sand, under various charms to keep the sand out and keep it fresh. He felt a stab of guilt at not eating it, but he had spent most of his time in the woods. He hadn’t even seen it until he’d made the decision to go back to the house. But after a childhood of having barely enough to eat, he still felt that pang of guilt whenever food was uneaten.

He picked at it as he slowly walked back to the cottage, quickly vanishing the rest as he walked through the door. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

“Feel better?” Ginny’s voice was gentle, as she looked up from her book.

“A little.” Remus placed the plate back in the cupboard before asking, “What are you reading?”

“A book on hexes and stuff. I like learning them.”

“Well, I could teach you some, if you wanted. I was a defence Professor, after all.”

“Tomorrow, you can teach her.” Bill had suddenly appeared in the doorway. “It’s dark outside and we’re not having hexes thrown around the house.”

“Spoilsport,” Ginny muttered, before smiling at Remus. “I’d like to learn the worst ones possible.”

Remus raised an eyebrow before looking at Bill, who’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. “Sure. The ones we used in school probably weren’t the nicest spells, and in any case, it’s not the severity of the spell, but rather the way you use them. A simple wingardium leviosa can be used to drop someone out of a window. Or throw knives at them.”

“I thought, as an adult, you were supposed to be a _good_ influence.” Bill had stopped laughing, and was looking between Remus and Ginny worriedly.

“I came up with most of the pranks my group did, back in those days. Trust me, I am anything _but_ a good influence.”

Ginny’s grin had a wicked edge as Bill sighed in defeat behind her.

* * *

The first time Harry drifted into consciousness, an ice cold hand held him in a vice-like grip. Or that’s how it felt, anyway; was it like this before he’d woken up? Suddenly he was trembling from the cold, desperately closing his eyes. The floor beneath him was softer than it had been in the cell, but he felt like he was back in there, because really, it couldn’t be this cold anywhere else.

Then a blanket of warm magic settled over him, and he sank back into a deep sleep.

He woke up again when painful magic — three sources of them — entered the room. His mind was still foggy, but he tried to keep still as they settled at the end of his bed, the magic pricking his mind like thorns. He tried to focus on the warmth of the nice magic, the magic that allowed him to feel more relaxed than he had in weeks. Regardless of how much pain the other magics caused him, he was in a much better place than before.

He lightly dozed, not really listening to their conversation. After a while they left, and it was just him and the warm magic again. And then—

“I know you’re awake, Potter.”

Malfoy’s voice was a lot closer than Harry was expecting it to be. He wearily cracked open one eye, not really getting much information other than the fact that there was an angry, pale smudge hovering above him.

“You _think_ you can keep your breathing even, but I heard it change when the others walked in the room. Were you listening to the conversation?

“No,” Harry rasped, suddenly aware that he hadn’t eaten or drank anything in…a long time.

There was silence for a minute, and the pale, blurry shape above him shifted slightly. “I’m going to get you something to drink. And eat. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Harry’s breath caught at the idea of being alone, with that coldness, for even a second, but Malfoy apparently caught onto this and cast a warming charm before going downstairs. 

Harry must have fallen asleep, because he woke suddenly at the scent of buttered bread and a cup of too-weak tea.

“Here you go, Potter. First person ever to be served by a Malfoy…but then again, you are the _Golden Boy_ , the _Chosen One_ , the _Saviour_ —”

“Just give me my bread, Malfoy.”

“Ooo, testy, testy.” Malfoy tutted, before holding out a glass of water. “This first.”

Harry struggled to sit up, and he was surprised when he was able to hold the glass of water without much trouble. He took a large sip, and then another, and quickly drained the glass, before grimacing at the horrid feeling of an empty stomach filled with water. Feeling slightly nauseous, he took one slice of bread and carefully nibbled at the side.

“So what have you lot been doing?” Harry’s voice trailed off — he clearly wasn’t up to speaking — but Malfoy got his drift nonetheless.

“Well, we’ve only been back for twenty–four hours, so not much. Actually, now that you’re awake, we should probably test your magical core. We’re also learning some diagnosis spells, then we’ll be able to learn the right healing spells to speed up your recovery.” 

Harry nodded, and took another bite of his bread, which was surprisingly good. Then again, once you get used to mouldy bread, any bread tastes good.

“I’m gonna call Sev — we should look at your core while you’re awake. Do _not_ fall asleep.” 

Harry nodded again, watching as Malfoy walked over to the doorway and hollered for Snape, who came sprinting down the stairs, his cloak flaring behind him as he hurried into the room. Ron and Hermione came thundering after him, all three of them staring at Harry in shock, who raised a hand in greeting before taking another bite of bread. It was really good bread.

“He’s awake? How long has he been awake?” Ron asked. Malfoy glanced at Harry, who nodded slightly.

“Since you lot came barging in here before. He was just too polite to disturb us.” 

Ron rolled his eyes. “Bloody self–sacrificing git—”

Malfoy smoothly cut him off. “Not that I don’t agree with you, but we have other matters to attend to. Severus, I thought since he was awake, I should do the diagnosis charm that shows his magical core.”

“Are you _sure_ you know how to do it?” Hermione cut in. Harry frowned — her tone was challenging, but surely Malfoy wouldn’t _volunteer_ to do a spell he couldn’t do?

Malfoy clearly shared the same sentiment, as he rolled his eyes and drawled, “no, Grang—Hermione, I actually _don’t_ know how to do the spell, but I said I would just to piss you off.”

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms. “Well go on then.”

Malfoy shot a glare at her, before taking a couple of steps towards Harry. Harry tried not to react at the wave of warmth and comfort that came with the proximity of Malfoy’s magic, but was quite sure he let out a little sigh anyway. Malfoy raised an eyebrow in amusement, before pointing his wand directly at Harry’s chest. He heard Ron and Hermione gasp slightly, but surprisingly, he didn’t feel any fear.

“Get on with it, then,” he said, smirking at the spark of annoyance in Malfoy’s eye. 

“Magicorae revelium,” he murmured, moving his wand in a weird corkscrew motion, before pulling it away from Harry, towards his abdomen. At the abrupt jerking motion, Harry felt the ball of warmth — his core — moving outwards slightly, while still remaining inside. Like a shadow of it passed outside. He looked down, and his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the threads of magic, pulsing gently in a sphere around the size of his fist. They were in every colour — rich scarlets, bright purple, shimmering blues and greens all weaving in and out of a bright sphere of light.

Harry watched the colours undulate for a few seconds, before noticing a thin, white thread trailing off. He frowned, his eyes trailing along it, only to find out that it led to Malfoy, who was staring at it in horror.

“What the fuck is _that_?” Harry and Draco simultaneously in horror. Ron shrugged, but Hermione and Snape exchanged identical worried looks.

“Out with it, Hermione.”

Hermione nervously shifted from side to side. “Well, this is just a theory, but when Harry first came into contact with you, his core was probably incredibly damaged — if he hadn’t had the blood potion from Voldemort, he’d be dead. You two obviously have compatible magic, as you were able to successfully complete the Anamchara ritual, but if two people’s magics are extremely compatible, a ritual like that can result in a…” Hermione’s voice trailed off, and Ron nudged her. “A permanent bond between your cores.”

Harry felt all the blood drain from his face, and a glance to the side confirmed that the same had happened to Malfoy. “And what does that _mean_ , exactly?” Harry forced out, his throat closing up with terror.

Hermione sighed, her eyebrows drawing into a familiar frown that Hermione adopted whenever she didn’t know something. “I’ve only read theories of this happening — your cores have to be one hundred percent compatible for this to occur, which is incredibly rare. I don’t think there’s any documented information; but then again, I’ve never really gone looking for information on this particular topic, and despite your and Ron’s accusations I have not read the entire Hogwarts library.”

“Brilliant.” Harry sighed and slumped back on his bed.

“Severus? Anything to add?” Malfoy looked worriedly at Snape, who was also looking increasingly pale.

“Mr. Potter’s core looks far too small for someone who causes that many accidents in potions. Don’t look at me like that — having a larger core means it’s harder to control,” he added, as Harry glared at him. 

“I thought we agreed to use first names, Severus.”

Harry and Snape both glared at Hermione. “Hermione, you don’t really mean I have to call him,” he nodded at Snape, “ _Severus_ , and him,” he nodded at Malfoy, who was looking quite uncomfortable, at this point, “ _Draco_?” 

“Yes.” She crossed her arms, and they had a short staring competition, which Harry knew he wouldn’t win, and only participated in to make his displeasure clear.

“Now that we’ve established rules, can we actually look at Harry’s core?”

Snape — Severus — rolled his eyes, and took a couple of steps forward to peer at he glowing ball of light hovering just in front of Harry’s abdomen. “He’s got more colours than most people, which is to be expected, since he’s the Chosen One. It’s quite a bit smaller than the average persons — again, expected, since he spent around six weeks in a dungeon that absorbed his magic. Actually, all things considered, it’s not looking that bad. Although I think Draco’s magic may be helping.”

“My magic is doing what?” 

Sn — Severus — that was going to take some getting used to — rolled his eyes. “The bond is glowing slightly, meaning it’s active. You’re probably providing small quantities of magic to Harry’s core, so it will heal faster. You shouldn’t be feeling a drain, though, since it’s not that bright.”

“Great.” Malfoy — oh dear Merlin, Harry was going to have to call him Draco now — leaned against the wall, clearly sulking.

“So we don’t have anything to worry about?” Hermione asked. Harry had gone back to staring at his core, which was gently fading, disappearing before Severus finished speaking.

“No — as long as Draco spends a lot of time around Harry, it should accelerate the healing of his magical core. We still need to do the diagnosis charms for his physical health, though. And should probably do some healing charms on those cuts,” Severus added, grimacing as his gaze flicked to Harry’s cheeks.

“Well I’ve got a few diagnosis charms written down here,” Hermione hurried over to the other side of the room, extracting copious amounts of parchment from the pile of books, “although I’m not sure which would be best.” Severus walked over and peered down at the paper, and after a moment’s hesitation M–Draco went too. As they all looked at the paper, Hermione asked, “and regarding the healing charms — you know some, don’t you Severus?” 

Harry’s mind was already spinning with the idea of having to go through that much pain, and was about to say don’t worry about it, because they’d heal by themselves anyway, but Severus beat him to it; “I do, but my magic hurts Harry, and I don’t know what effect it would have if I actually cast on him.”

“Actually, while we’re here, we should probably test if both mine and Ron’s magic hurts him. Ron, you first.”

Ron walked over to Harry cautiously. At around three feet, Harry winced. “Ron’s is bearable — feels a bit like pins and needles, rather than actual pain. Not compatible, though.”

Ron grimaced. “Sorry, mate.” He walked back to the corner that he’d been leaning on, and Hermione walked over. She stopped right next to the bed, and shot him a questioning look. Harry was surprised to not feel anything other than a light tingle, but it certainly wasn’t the warmth of Draco’s magic.

“Hermione’s is very…neutral. I can’t really feel anything, but again, not very compatible. Maybe try casting something?”

Hermione tilted her head slightly, before levelling her wand at Harry’s glasses. _How_ he still had those after all that happened, he had no idea. “ _Reparo_.”

A white–hot needle of pain pierced Harry right between Harry’s eyebrows, and he whimpered slightly in pain. 

“Shit, sorry Harry.”

“I think you just don’t exude much ambient magic, rather than having compatible magic.”

Hermione nodded. “At least I can sit near you, then.”

Harry nodded sadly, as she gently patted his knee and went back to the pile of parchment. “So Draco, you’ll have to learn some healing charms as well. Just the basics — _episkey_ and so on.”

“I’ll teach him,” Snape volunteered, and Draco visibly relaxed. They quickly started discussing diagnosis and healing charms, and Harry tuned out their conversation. Ron cast a glance at them and shook his head, dragging a chair about halfway across the room.

“You can bring it a bit closer, y’know,” Harry said. Ron looked at him doubtfully, but dragged it over a bit more, so he was about five feet away. Harry nodded at him, and he smiled slightly before sitting down.

“So, how are you doing, Harry?”

Harry sighed. “I’m alright. I could be worse — I could still be in that dungeon — but I’ve got plenty of food and tea in me, a comfy bed, a decent amount of sleep…I don’t really feel up to actually doing anything, but I can chat, which is more than I could do twenty–four hours ago.”

“‘ _Plenty of food’_ …mate, you’ve had one slice of bread.”

“Well I haven’t had much to eat over the past six weeks. One slice feels like plenty, now.” Harry shrugged.

Ron looked as if he was going to say something, but then just grimaced instead, before changing the subject. “So…what actually happened? Y’know, on the mission with Dumbledore, and then these last six weeks…”

Harry frowned. He actually hadn’t thought about the event that had led to him being captured. Actually, he couldn’t get his head around the fact that Dumbledore was dead. 

“That…a lot happened. I’d rather not talk about it, but…wait, isn’t there a pensieve around here somewhere?”

“I think I saw one in the library…looked a little dusty, like everything else, but we could probably clear it up. Why?”

“Well, I don’t really want to _talk_ about what happened in the cave, but if we could use the pensieve, then I could show you and Hermione. And maybe you’d pick up some details which I missed.” The more Harry thought about it, the more he thought that this was the right thing to do. He certainly couldn’t do the situation justice from a description…and while Ron had always believed him, Harry didn’t think Hermione would believe Dumbledore was dead without indisputable proof.

“I’ll go get the pensieve — ‘Mione! Hey, Hermione!” 

Hermione turned around with an exasperated expression. “What is it, Ron?”

“Do you have a flask or something to put Harry’s memory in?”

“Yes, but — wait, what?” Hermione turned as Ron strode past her, almost out of the door before he replied.

“I’m going to go get the pensieve — give Harry the flask.” 

Hermione shook her head and muttered something under her breath that made Draco chuckle, before rummaging in a little bag — clearly with an extension charm on it — for a little while. After about ten seconds, she gave up and just said “ _Accio flask_.” A little glass tube came zooming out of the bag, and Hermione peered at it, before shrugging and saying “Good enough. Do you know how to remove memories, Harry?”

“I think so,” Harry said, taking the flask. He put a finger to his temple and thought very hard about the cave, immersing himself in the memory — the scent of mildew and stale water, the dampness of the cave that made his palms sweaty, the sound of the water gently lapping against the rocks, the dim, green light, seemingly appearing from nowhere, that bathed everything in a sickly light. Quickly running through the events — swimming to the cave, Dumbledore opening the entrance, the boat ride, the potion, Dumbledore’s death, Voldemort’s arrival, all the way through to the stupefy, Harry gently pulled the silvery thread from his head, frowning at it before depositing it in the flask.

“I didn’t know you could do that wandless,” Hermione said.

Harry shrugged. “Neither did I.”

Ron suddenly burst through the door, holding a tarnished, silver pensieve. “Could probably use a couple of polishing spells, but should be fine to use — there was no dark magic around it, or anything.”

Severus took it from Ron and looked over it carefully, casting a couple of spells to make it gleam and filling it with a shimmery liquid. “It’s safe to use now. I take it Draco and I aren’t allowed to see?”

“Dumbledore didn’t want anyone else finding out about this,” Harry said apologetically. He handed the flask to Ron. “See if you can see what was in the basin — it’s important.”

Ron nodded, and poured the memory into the basin, before he and Hermione plunged their faces into the basin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m probably going to have to change my posting schedule to every other Friday, because mild writer’s block regarding this fic - I’m still writing it, but it’s slower, and I don’t want to publish shitty chapters, so sorry guys :( even if my writing speeds up, I’ll probably stick to the slower posting schedule, and then post it more regularly when I’ve finished writing.
> 
> On the other hand, this means I’m writing a few more small one shots than usual - most of them can be found on my tumblr, but there are 3 extra ones for fic contests on my instagram :)
> 
> Love you all, your comments and kudos are what keep me writing ❤️


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: some death (I.e. recap of Dumbles’ death from the first chapter, and another description by someone. Not too gory, though).
> 
> I think this fic is going to be...very long. Just started chapter 9 (I’m still sticking to this posting schedule, don’t want to stress myself out) and...yeah. I hope to finish it by the end of August but I’m not sure if that’s realistic - at the very least, get as much written as possible before I go back for my last year of school. (Wow. Scary.)
> 
> I hope it was worth the wait! <3

Ron knew _how_ to use a pensieve, but nothing could prepare him for the stomach–churning sensation of falling down a hole combined with the fact that his feet were still planted firmly on the bedroom floor.. He closed his eyes against the swirling greens and blacks of the pensieve, opening them when he’d stopped spinning.

He was in a cavern, or sorts, roughly hewn into a cliff face with weirdly dark sand covering the rock. Hermione was to his left, and he sighed in relief.

“This place is a bit weird, isn’t it ‘Mione.”

“Yeah—” Hermione turned around to face him, and immediately jumped in shock. “You look…”

Ron lifted a hand, and saw that it looked like it had been drained of blood. Hermione looked fine, other than the fact that her skin had a slight grey tinge. “It’s probably the lighting.”

Hermione hummed, gazing at the wall.

“Not that that isn’t a really interesting wall, ‘Mione, but why are you staring at it so intently?”

“Harry is probably going to go through there — look there he is.” Ron turned around to see Harry and Dumbledore walking over from the edge of the rock. “There’s traces of magic there, and there,” she gestured to random parts of the wall, which in Ron’s opinion, simply looked like solid rock. “Although I’m not quite sure _how_ they’re going to go through—”

Dumbledore strode up to the wall, and cut his hand, red blood spraying across the rock. Instantaneously, the entire cavern was illuminated in a blinding white light, coming from the wall, a section of which disappeared. Harry collapsed on the floor, his screams echoing around the cavern as Harry clutched his forehead. Dumbledore watched with mild interest as Harry writhed on the ground. He shifted his attention to the wound on his hand, examining it before casting a wordless healing spell. As Harry’s pain seemed to subside, Dumblefore gazed at him with concern. Ron went to throw himself at Dumbledore because _Harry was there, on the ground, and Dumbledore wasn’t doing a goddamn thing_ , but Hermione grabbed his arm.

“We’re just viewers here. We can’t physically interfere in any way, so just try to absorb as much information as possible.” Hermione muttered, her dark eyes burning with anger at the sight of Dumbledore _still_ not doing a _thing_. Furious, Ron went through the rock into an eerily green cave, mostly taken up by a massive lake, which was completely still, and a small island was situated in the middle.

The screams suddenly stopped, and Ron turned spun around, to check if Harry was okay. Dumbledore bent down, looking for injuries and murmuring to Harry, who relaxed at the sight of the old man, mumbling replies too quiet for Ron to hear. Ron jumped forwards, away from the water when he heard a splash, but when he turned around to look, the water was perfectly still. Ron turned back to Dumbledore and Harry, who was curled up on the floor. Dumbledore murmured something to Harry, his expression becoming determined as he dragged Harry to his feet, past Ron, to the bank, before pressing a hand to Harry’s chest, preventing him from tumbling into the water. He summoned a chain from the water without a second thought, and Ron _knew_ he saw something emerge from the lake for a split second towards the back of the lake. Ron moved towards the bank, trying to see what had splashed in the eerily–still lake. However, the water didn’t move, so Ron went back to watching Harry and Dumbledore. He held out the chain to Harry, mumbling something about his hand. Harry took the chain without question, even as the pain he was feeling, likely from his episode, was written across his face. Ron figured that it was probably best for Harry to be doing the heavy lifting — Dumbledore’s hand _was_ heavily cursed, and couldn’t function — but Ron still snarled slightly at the sight of his best friend in pain. Harry visibly relaxed as the boat finally emerged, and Ron flinched as Harry almost fell out of the boat into the too–still water as he climbed into the boat. Dumbledore used some weird magic to get in the boat while barely rocking it, and they were off.

“Hermione, can I walk on the weird water?” Ron yelled. Hermione, who was still examining the wall, shrugged. “Give it a go, nothing can happen to you, this is just a memory.”

Ron pulled a face and went as close to the water as he could without physically going into it. He looked at the little island in the middle of the lake…it would be so much easier if he could apparate… 

Wait. He _was_ a wizard. And this was a memory.

He turned on his heel, and suddenly he was on the island, watching Harry and Dumbledore glide across the lake. He turned around, looking around the island. It was made up of strangely jagged rocks, with a stone basin in the middle. There was a stone cup balancing precariously on the edge of the basin, which, upon closer inspection, was filled with a deep purple liquid.

Ron jumped as Dumbledore walked right through him. He took one glance at the potion and announced to Harry, “we have to drink it.”

“WHAT!” Ron shouted, just as Harry protested, “we don’t even know what it is!”

Dumbledore gave him a condescending look. “I thought you agreed not to question me.” 

_Well, that explains why Harry’s being so compliant._

“We don’t have time to test it,” Dumbledore continued, “Voldemort is on his way, is he not?” 

Ron quickly looked to Hermione, who was now studying the water, having finally given up her fascination with the cave face. 

“I’m going to drink it,” Dumbledore said, and Ron frowned slightly — sure, he didn’t want Harry to get hurt, but _Voldemort was coming —_ surely Dumbledore would be able to hold his own much better than Harry, even if he _was_ the Boy–Who–Lived. At the very least, they could split the potion between the two of them so they were both weakened, but not to a horrendous amount. Then he remembered what he’d turned around to do. 

“Hermione! HERMIONE!”

“Yeah?” She yelled from across the lake.

“VOLDEMORT IS COMING!”

Ron could practically hear her sigh, before she apparated to him. “Ron, that doesn’t matter. This is a memory, remember?”

“But that means Harry was taken _now_!”

“Well he’s safe now, and that’s all that — what is happening?” Hermione was looking off to Ron’s side, and he turned to see Dumbledore rocking back and forth slightly.

“He’s drinking this really dodgy potion. Harry said that we need to see what’s in that basin, remember?”

“But—” Hermione started, but Ron had already walked over, peering into the basin. It was still half full of liquid, but something silver glimmered at the bottom.

“Ron. Ron, I think Dumbledore is going to die.”

“What?”

“He just said the potion is speeding up the curse on his hand. He’s going to die before he finishes it.”

“Well, there isn’t much we can do about that now, is there?”

“Ron, how could you say that!” 

“Hermione, this is a memory, remember?” Ron sighed, “we need to get as much information as possible. We need to think now, mourn later.” Ron grimaced at the sight of the Dumbledore on the ground, but tore his eyes away and continued to study the island.

Hermione grimaced. “I suppose you have a point.” 

Ron heard the unshed tears in her voice and hurried over, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing them slightly. “Hopefully this doesn’t take too long.”

They stood like that for a little while, watching Harry run between the basin and Dumbledore. They watched him keel over, Hermione making a small noise and burying her face into Ron’s shoulder. They watched as Harry bent down to check — and dropped his wand, the git. A flash of light illuminated the cave, and Ron and Hermione almost lost their footing when they spun around.

Hermione held her breath Voldemort apparated to the island, walking swiftly past them. “He can’t see or hear us, you know,” Ron nudged her.

“Well, yes, but — well, it’s still scary, seeing him up close.”

Ron hummed in agreement, flinching as Voldemort snapped Harry’s wand, before flicking his wand and restraining Harry with black ropes.

“Did he use an incantation?” Hermione asked. 

Ron huffed softly before answering — even in a situation like this, Hermione was looking to use new spells. “Don’t think so.”

Both of them stumbled a step backwards as Voldemort cast a spell — _leglimens_ — and then everything just... _stopped_. The green light still flickered around the cave, but other than that, the two figures were frozen.

“Hang on a minute, I’m just going to look in the basin.”

Ron peered into the basin again, seeing that the potion was pretty much drained, a few drops lingering just beneath the object. At a closer glance, it was clear to see that the flash of silver he’d seen before was from a locket. The chain was heavily tarnished and the locket engraved with a large, green _‘S’._ Oddly enough, it looked familiar… 

“Hey, Hermione, come here — isn’t this the locket from we found when clearing out the Grimmauld?”

Slipping slightly as she walked over the rocks, Hermione grabbed onto the basin, before looking inside. “Yeah, it is!”

“D’you reckon Kreacher would know anything about it?”

“Well, it’s small, and no one would notice it being missing…I’m willing to bet he has it in that nest of his.”

Hermione’s face lit up in a grin, before both of them were abruptly pulled from the memory as a flash of red light — a _stupefy_ — illuminated both of their faces. 

* * *

Remus watched as Ginny and Fleur hurled hexes at each other across the sand. They’d been at it for fifteen minutes, and Remus had watched as the fight had gotten increasingly hostile; at first, Fleur had been reluctant to fully attack the sixteen–year–old, but Ginny hadn’t held back in the slightest, forcing Fleur to go on the defensive. Now, Fleur was back on the offensive, and using a technique unlike any Remus had seen before — likely something she’d learned at Beauxbatons. He analysed both of their movements — both unorthodox, both skilled — and made some mental notes on how they could improve. Ginny was outmatched by a _lot_ — Fleur knew more spells, more techniques, and had had a lot more practice — but Ginny made up for it in sheer savagery. More than once, she’d cast a mild _reducto_ at the sand, giving her a cover when she was on the verge of being beaten.

As a purple spell from Fleur barely missed Ginny’s ear — she’d promised not to use anything lethal, but she was also getting increasingly angrier as Ginny kept slipping away, her Veela powers flaring in a silvery glow, and Remus was getting concerned — Remus stepped in, casting two shield charms. “I think that’s enough for today.”

Ginny stuck her tongue out, while Fleur fumed. “I almost ‘ad her!”

“And what, exactly, was that purple spell going to do?” Remus asked tiredly.

“Only make ’er _feel_ like she was being flayed alive!”

“You can’t do that, Fleur.”

“ _Four_ times! Four times she flung sand in my face!”

Remus rolled his eyes. “You used shield charms, _and_ you’re much more advanced. Ginny, you giggling is _not_ helping the situation,” Remus added, turning around to glare at Ginny who was, in fact, giggling.

Fleur huffed and stalked back to Shell Cottage, her silvery glow fading slightly as she got to the gates. Ginny stared after her slack jawed, and Remus snapped his fingers in front of her nose.

After seeing that her eyes had cleared, Remus listed the mental notes he’d made while watching them. “You were good at resisting her powers, but it still dimmed your focus slightly, which you’ll have to work on. Also, we need to have you learning some more advanced spells. Your technique is surprisingly good, especially for your age — very unorthodox, which means it will probably take your enemies by surprise—that’s what we want.” 

Ginny nodded quickly. “But for now, I can go and have dinner, right?”

“Yes — I’ll come too.”

Dinner was a peaceful affair, other than Fleur occasionally throwing dirty glances at Ginny.

That was, until the owl came.

Bill immediately grabbed the letter, and shouted, “It’s from Ron and Hermione!”

Remus felt a stab of guilt at the fact that he hadn’t thought of the kids that weren’t in the nearby vicinity, but Bill shook his head at him.

“There’s no point in feeling guilty, you’ve had your own shit on. Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat dramatically while unfurling the letter, “this needs to be read.”

“Go on then!” Ginny bounced on her chair slightly.

Bill cleared his throat again, before reading:

_“‘Dear Bill, Fleur, Ginny, and whoever else is with you,_

_“We have had a very dramatic twenty–four hours. We are staying in a place in London under the fidelius — we’ll have to meet as soon as possible so we can reveal the location to yourselves. Anyway, that’s not the crazy part._

_“Last night, Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy apparated into our front hall — with Harry! He was in terrible shape — he’d been being tortured for the last six weeks by Voldemort, but there’s no point feeling guilty about it — Ron and myself should have picked up on the hints he’d send us in a letter at the start. Regardless, what matters is that we have Harry with us, and now we can help him heal. Actually, if any of you know any healing or diagnosis spells, it would be much appreciated if you could drop by to teach Draco._

_“Right, Draco and Severus. They rescued Harry from the dungeons, and then Draco used an_ Anamchara _bond to let Harry use his magic to apparate them here. Harry and Draco have unbelievably compatible magic, to the point that only Draco can cast on him — which is why he needs to learn diagnosis and healing spells as soon as possible. We’re going to be brewing potions as well, but we can only do so much with those._

 _“I hope all of you are keeping safe — how is everyone doing? We think that we need to reunite the Order — what’s left of us, in any case. I have another death to report, and this was a shock to all of us when we found out — Dumbledore—”_ Bill swallowed, chocking out the words, _“Dumbledore is dead.’”_

Everyone around the table gasped. 

“Dumbledore — Dumbledore can’t be dead. He can’t have _left_ us.” Remus felt his heart rate start to rise, and deliberately took deep breaths, willing it to calm down. Now was not the time to panic. Not in front of everyone.

“I doubt they’d lie,” Ginny said gently, tears running down her cheeks. “Bill, there’s more, right?”

“I — yeah:

_“‘We can’t let this information spread too widely — at the moment, it is providing hope to the masses, but we must include this in any plans we make. We know that Voldemort knows about Dumbledore’s death, but doubt that he’s told any of his death eaters, since not even Severus knew._

_“Anyway, the point is everyone is now accounted for, which is something, at least._

_“Sending love,_

_“Ron, Hermione and Harry.’_ Then Hermione — I assume it’s Hermione, since that definitely isn’t Ron’s handwriting — added in brackets:

 _“(I don’t think Severus and Draco are ready to be sending love_ just _yet. We’ll get there.)”_ Bill chuckled weakly, passing the letter to Ginny, who had been holding her hand out expectantly.

“Draco Malfoy. I cannot believe that.” Ginny murmured under her breath.

Remus thought about it, burying his grief and guilt. He’d only encountered Draco in lessons — he’d always acted up, likely because of his father’s beliefs. But now that he was away from Lucius — he’d probably been forced to do something that he wasn’t happy about — he might actually grow into a _nice_ human being. He was smart, for sure, and Remus _knew_ that all Slytherins weren’t evil, regardless of the stereotype.

Severus…Remus had some bad blood with him, sure. He’d never done anything _terrible_ — perhaps he’d put up with his friends’ bigotry too much for Remus’ tastes, but he’d never actually joined in said bigotry. _And_ he had been a spy since he’d been seventeen, which was something to be commended in itself.

“So, shall we write back?” Remus said.

Bill nodded. “Yeah — we can meet them tomorrow at the Burrow? Or here?”

“Well if we put some charms on the letter so only a Weasley can open it, and send it to Ron, then we can put our location and reveal the fidelius to them. I think they’re somewhere in London, so it isn’t a terribly large distance, although they’d have to stay the night so they don’t splinch themselves on the way back. But we’d have time to plan, which is what we need.”

“Sounds good. They’d probably leave at least one person there with Harry, maybe two, since I doubt he’d come — Fleur, do we have enough space for three guests?”

“Yes — there are two spare bedrooms, but I’m sure two of them could share.”

“Excellent.” 

They quickly wrote the letter, and sent Hedwig off into the night.

* * *

Hermione jerked away from the pensieve, blinking rapidly as the blood rushed from her head. 

“Harry, we need to talk to Kreacher. _Right now.”_

“Kreacher? What—”

Ron suddenly stood up, his face bright red, spluttering. Hermione thumped him on the back, wondering how, exactly, she liked _this_ idiot.

“You weren’t supposed to _drink_ the pensieve liquid — I didn’t even know that was _possible._ _Honestly,_ Ronald.”

“Harry — need — Kreacher — locket — nest—”

Harry raised an eyebrow, but rolled his eyes and called out, “Kreacher!”

Kreacher appeared with a _snap_ , glowering at Harry. “Master called?”

“You have a house elf?” Draco exclaimed in surprise. Harry had barely nodded before Kreacher was at Draco’s feet, _literally_ kissing them.

“A member of the bloodline of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black — Kreacher is most honoured, oh yes, he is — would Master Malfoy be wanting anything? A drink? A massage? Mistress Black was always very fond of Kreacher’s foot–rubs, oh, she was…” Kreacher continued to mumble while Draco stared at him in equal parts shock and horror. Snape’s shoulders were twitching with restrained laughter. Harry and Ron had actually managed to keep themselves calm — until they looked at each other and burst out laughing, quickly reduced to noiseless wheezing. Hermione was tempted to join them, and could feel the corners of her lips twitching, but took a deep breath and calmly said “Kreacher. Get off the ground and listen to Harry.”

Kreacher growled as he stood up, fighting every movement. Hermione didn’t want to force him to do anything — other than forbidding him to provide intelligence of any kind to anyone outside of the Order, she hadn’t given him a single order — but they _had_ to find this horcrux.

“Kreacher, can you…wait, I don’t actually know what he should be after. Kreacher, answer every question from Ron and Hermione honestly, and obey their orders.”

Kreacher muttered something under his breath, and turned hateful eyes on Hermione. She glanced to the side, but Ron still seemed breathless, so she was on her own.

“Kreacher, I need to know if you have a locket in your…nest.” 

“Yes,” Kreacher said glumly.

“Could you describe it?” Hermione said hopefully. She heard a sigh from the other side of the room, where Draco was standing.

“Kreacher could.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Kreacher, describe the locket to me, please.”

Kreacher snarled, spitting out every word. “It has a silver chain, with a big green shiny and a letter on, and Master Regulus trusted Kreacher with it, so you shall not be having it!”

Severus made a choking noise, and Hermione’s head snapped to the side to look at him. “Severus? Did you know Regulus?”

“I — as a matter of fact, I did, Miss Granger. He was a death eater — perhaps the smartest and most sane one, other than myself. We were friends, of sorts — we often paired up for missions, since there was no one who provided better conversation, and our ages were relatively close — he joined a couple of years after myself. Towards the end, he mentioned something about having second thoughts. I dismissed it, perhaps a little too quickly, since he was from the Black family, who were notorious for turning out as death eaters — for example, I’m sure you’ve heard of Bellatrix Lestrange?”

A shudder went around the room, apart from Kreacher, who began muttering something about blood–traitors.

“Yes well, she was from the Black family. As was Draco’s mother, actually — although I’m not sure of her allegiances.”

Draco frowned. “Her allegiance is to her family, although I’m not sure whether or not she considers Lucius family anymore. I’d be surprised if she’s left — for now, she’s safe in there as long as she acts the part — but she may eventually leave. If we encounter her alone, she might be willing to join our side, if only to follow me.”

Severus nodded thoughtfully. “That’s something to consider. Anyway, around a week after Regulus voiced these second thoughts, he ended up dead. I hadn’t thought anything of it — perhaps he said something to the wrong person. Certainly I mourned, but I thought it was an ordinary death. Apparently I was wrong.”

He nodded to Hermione, indicating that she ask Kreacher. “Kreacher, please tell us about Regulus’ death.” 

Kreacher took a shuddering breath. “It had all been starting when Master Regulus said that the Dark Lord required an elf.”

Expressions of shock were exchanged between the five, but Hermione nodded, and gestured for Kreacher to carry on.

“Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher, and said that it was being an honour, for Kreacher, and for Master Regulus, and that Kreacher should be sure to be doing whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do, and then — and then to come home.” Kreacher started rocking back and forth on his heels, the floorboards quietly creaking as he continued his story. “So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord took Kreacher to a cave next to the sea. And inside the cave was a green cavern, with a big, still lake.”

Harry, Ron and Hermione gasped.

“He took Kreacher on a boat, and made — made Kreacher drink the potion from a basin, on a tiny island. Kreacher drank it, because Kreacher obeyed his Master and Master told him to obey the Dark Lord. Kreacher drank, and drank…Kreacher’s insides burned…Kreacher cried for his Mistress Black to save him, for Master Regulus to save him, and the Dark Lord l– _laughed...”_

Hermione’s eyes started to fill with tears as the old elf started to rock faster.

“After Kreacher had finished the potion, the Dark Lord dropped a locket in the basin, and filled it with more potion, before sailing aw–away, and leaving Kreacher on the island. Kreacher went to get a drink, and hands…dead, pale hands, dragged Kreacher down, down…but Kreacher came home. Master Regulus told Kreacher to come home, and Kreacher obeyed his master.”

“But — but there were anti–apparation wards. We couldn’t get in and out.” Harry murmured.

Ron shook his head. “Elf magic works differently — they can get in and out of apparation wards by apparating. Only very, very ancient wards can prevent them — back from the old days, when elves were still considered powerful beings. Then they put in laws and binding spells, and elves were all but forgotten, as were the old spells. The binding spells prevented elves from actually harming wizards, so they were dismissed as a threat and were generally forgotten when new spells were developed. The new spells…they’re easier to do, but not as effective against magical creatures.”

Hermione nodded. “Yep, exactly. Kreacher, could you tell us what happened afterwards?” She added gently.

Kreacher looked at her with wide, pale–blue eyes. He looked as if he was going to say no — she’d asked it as a request rather than an order, after all — but then shifted his feet and continued. “Master Regulus was worried, very, very worried, and he told Kreacher to stay hidden and not leave the house. Kreacher stayed in his cupboard,most of the time, until Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard, one night. Master Regulus was disturbed in his mind, not quite himself, but he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord. We went to the cave, again, to the basin, and Master — Master Regulus…”

“You had to drink the potion again?” Hermione asked quietly, but Kreacher vigorously shook his head, tears flowing freely.

“M–Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket, and he told Kreacher…he told Kreacher to switch the lockets, after h–he drank the potion. And then Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to leave without him af–after he swapped the lockets, and to destroy the locket, and t–to not tell his Mistress. And Kreacher didn’t want to, Kreacher wanted to stay with his Master, but he had to obey, s–so Kreacher swapped the lockets, and then watched as Master Regulus was dragged beneath the — the water, and…” Kreacher trailed off, wailing as he knelt on the floor. 

Hermione started to kneel to do _something_ — give him a hug, maybe? — but Draco vigorously shook his head ‘no’ and she rolled her eyes, straightening.

“So you brought it back…and destroyed it?” She asked hopefully — there was every possibility that when they’d found it the soul part had been destroyed. Her hopes plummeted as Kreacher threw himself on the floor, pulling on his ears as he sobbed.

“No! Kreacher tried everything he could…so many powerful spells, because maybe if he could open it, he could destroy it, but nothing worked. Kreacher punished himself, and tried again, but it would not open. Kreacher had disobeyed orders, Kreacher couldn’t destroy the locket! His Mistress Black went mad with grief because Master Regulus had gone, but Kreacher couldn’t tell her, because he was f–f–forbidden to tell any of the family…”

Any other words were incoherent as Kreacher began to sob so hard that there were no more coherent words. 

“Kreacher, you’ve been very helpful,” Hermione said gently. “When you feel up to it, please sit up so I can ask you one more thing.”

After a while, Kreacher sat up, looking like a mess, with mucus everywhere and large, bloodshot eyes. “Kreacher, do you still have the locket? We want to help fulfill your Master Regulus’ dying wish.”

Kreacher sniffled, and nodded.

“Could you bring it to us?”

Kreacher nodded and disappeared with a _crack,_ and Hermione looked up at Harry and Ron, practically buzzing with joy.

“We’ve got one. We’ve actually _got one_.” Hermione breathed.

Ron grinned. “That was easy. At this rate, we’ll be finished by Christmas.”

Harry smiled softly, suppressing a yawn before he spoke. “Ron, we have no idea how long it will take to find the others. But for now…we can celebrate. Also, can I go to sleep now? I’m _shattered_.”

“Yes, of course, sorry for keeping you up so long,” Hermione started to shoo out the rest of the boys, levitating her piles of parchment out of the door.

She turned back at the doorway to see that Harry’s face had drained of blood, and he was shivering. 

“Oh, right, I forgot. Draco, get back in there. You can have some of the research to comb through.”

“This is going to be _weird_ to get used to,” Ron muttered as Draco slipped back inside, taking a stack of parchment as he went.

“Well, we’re living in weird times, Ron.”

* * *

Voldemort paced his room.

It perhaps wasn’t the best — granted, the green, silk sheets were a nice touch, but it was a bit on the small side, and there was no manual lock, so he had to rely on _colloportus_. That wouldn’t bother him, but manual locks could be enchanted, and were just more satisfying.

He had to figure out what he was to do next. Most of the ministry was under his control — he had a living, breathing, machine, designed to wipe out all the muggleborns and blood traitors. Once that was done, and they had no opposition, they could start on the rest of Great Britain; and once the muggles were under his thumb, he’d have even bigger armies to take over the rest of the world. 

Big ideas, but he had time — all the time in the world, thanks to his horcruxes. 

His locket was still safe, and although Potter knew where it was, it was expendable. He should probably check on the ring, but he didn’t have any ties to it — it was his family home, but only Dumbledore knew about his family. And Dumbledore was dead.

The diary…he should never have been so _stupid_ to trust Lucius with it. That’s why he made so many.

The goblet was safe in the vault. He knew that the Black vaults were one of the most well–guarded family vaults in Gringotts, and he was _certain_ that no one would think to look there, especially since Bella was a Lestrange.

Nagini wasn’t leaving his sight, and she could defend herself anyway. No problems there.

Potter — well, the potion was there, so he couldn’t die. That’s the end of that. Even if Voldemort would be much more comfortable having the boy in his dungeons, he couldn’t do _that much_ harm, running around with his friends. He knew about the horcruxes, sure, but Dumbledore was a secretive wizard — Potter had no idea about the location of the horcruxes, and only a vague idea of what they were. And he wasn’t _smart_ — he was just a _boy_ — he’d be caught eventually.

He was confident the diadem was safe. Nobody knew about that room, and even if they _did_ , they wouldn’t know what to look for. 

Thinking of Hogwarts, he’d need some people in there. He knew Dolores Umbridge had worked there as the Defence teacher, so she would have a good knowledge of the school, and she’d embraced all of her duties in the Ministry wholeheartedly, despite not being under the imperius curse. She’d make a fine headmistress.

There were some other places to fill, he was sure. Muggle Studies, since he’d killed that muggle–loving bitch, Burbage. And Defence, since Severus… 

He felt anger rush through him. Severus had _betrayed_ him. After all these years of loyalty…he’d taken the Potter boy, and the Malfoy boy, and run. _Cowardly, muggle–loving sap._

The rest of the teachers would just have to stay on, and he could send…Amycus and Alecto. Yes, they’d do nicely. They were vicious — there wasn’t much going on _up there,_ but they knew their spells, and could be in charge of punishment as well. If he got Umbridge to give them more power, they could keep the other teachers in check as well. He’d let them decide which subjects they wanted to take — Dark Arts or… _muggles_. They were good fighters, but he had armies now, and it was important to get the children while they were young.

Between the Carrows and Umbridge, the rest of the teachers would stay in check. Well, all of them except McGonagall — but there weren’t any decent transfiguration teachers in his ranks, to his knowledge, and she was the best. Still, he should probably have a plan in place to subdue her, if necessary. Some inferi under his command in the lake should do it. 

Happy with his plans, Voldemort walked over to his bedside table, removing the various wards around the top drawer. He’d been using all of the chaos to avoid this, but it needed to be looked at.

He carefully pulled the last thread of magic, smiling as the rest of the wards fell, and reached into the drawer to pull out the wand.

He cleaned it with a quick charm from his wand and examined it curiously. _Dumbledore’s wand_. It hadn’t done anything when Voldemort picked it up, so it was probably safe to use. He cast a _lumos_ , and gasped — he hadn’t put very much power into it, but the lumos had glowed brighter than he could have expected. So _this_ was the secret to Dumbledore’s power — his wand. Sure, the man must be skillful, but this wand _amplified_ magic. Not to a massive degree, but it gave him an advantage. 

Voldemort gazed at his old wand, for a moment. It had served him well — allowed him to get this far. And it had been the first thing he’d gotten from the wizarding world — the first physical sign he was special. But he’d always _known_ he was special, and to have superiority — to have _true power_ over everyone — he’d need this wand.

He didn’t _know_ what was so special about the wand, what gave it these properties, but he could find out with time. And for now, what mattered was that he had it. And with it, he would be _unstoppable_.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: description of Harry’s injuries

Draco tried to breathe as quietly as possible, carefully cutting his chicken while warily watching the others at the table. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and while Draco longed to talk, any conversation initiated by himself would likely be shot down by Ron — being on a first name basis had done nothing to reduce the hostility between them. Also, he was absolutely shattered after a day of research and practicing healing spells. They weren’t _bad_ , exactly, but a couple had gone awry and Severus had had to heal his arm multiple times. Severus was still mad at him for testing on himself, but he _certainly_ wasn’t going to test on anyone else — the idea of harming anyone in the house made him shudder. Even Ron, to his surprise. 

“So, Draco,” Hermione said, causing Draco to jump and spill some peas from his fork at the sound of his name, “what was that spell you used to make the room smell of lavender yesterday?”

Draco loosed a breath of relief. “It’s one my mother taught me, although I’ve never seen it in any book. It doesn’t have a particular incantation — usually you just say the name of the scent, or flower, if it’s floral, in Latin. The spell is all in the wrist–work — it’s like a drawn out version of the flick at the end of _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” he waved his knife in the motion, “like this, but…bigger. And in a wider range — you have to stand towards the corner and kind of cover the whole room. Obviously, the amount of magic it takes is proportional to the size of the room, but it’s never been a huge issue for me, despite not having massive wells of magic.”

“Well, you did it yesterday despite your magic being depleted, so that shouldn’t be an issue. Do you know how it works, exactly?”

“Not really — like I said, I’ve never seen it in a book, and my mother never saw fit to explain how it worked. She probably didn’t know herself, actually.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. Once again, silence settled over the table, only broken by the sound of cutlery against ceramic, and after a while, the sound of talons tapping against the window.

Hermione sprung to her feet, already moving to the window. “Oh, that’ll be the reply from Bill and Fleur.” 

“When did you send a letter to them?” Ron frowned.

“Yesterday, after we finished the research. They _are_ members of the Order, so I figured they should be updated on…current events.” She shot an unsubtle glance at Draco and Severus.

“Fair enough. What does the letter say?”

Hermione scanned the parchment, smiling. “It says — hang on, I’ll just read it out.

_“‘Dear Hermione, Ron, and other inhabitants of wherever you are,_

_“‘It’s good to hear from you — we were worried how you were after the events of the wedding. To be perfectly honest, we’re all in a state of shock about Dumbledore’s passing — he wasn’t young, by any means, but we still never expected him to die so soon._

_“‘Ginny says, and I quote, “Malfoy is a git”, but Remus says he has potential. Oh, Remus is here, didn’t I say? He turned up a week or so ago, and helped put up the fidelius around,’”_ Hermione cleared her throat, “A location I can’t say because I’m not the secret keeper. You can all look at the paper in a minute. 

_“‘All in all, everyone is doing as well as they can. If you want to come around Friday, we have enough space for three people, and we can discuss plans for moving forward, contacting the Order and so on. If you can come, don’t bother replying — we’ll expect you around lunch._

_“‘Love,_

_“‘Bill, Fleur, Ginny and Remus.’”_ Hermione handed the parchment to Severus, who started scanning it.

“So I’m staying behind, right? Since I need to be near Harry?” Draco asked. He didn’t know how he felt, but an unconscious Potter was preferable to the Weaselette.

Ron smirked. “Yeah, it’s probably for the best anyway. Ginny would _kill_ you.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “I mean, as much as I loathe to say it, you’re not _wrong_.”

Ron snorted, and then immediately looked horrified with himself, hastily hiding himself behind the parchment that Severus held out. 

“No need to be embarrassed, Ron, I _am_ hilarious,” Draco drawled, popping another piece of chicken in his mouth, and smirked at the indecipherable grumble and the bright–red ears sticking out from either side of the parchment. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and tapped him on the shoulder. “Do you have the location, Ron? Because Draco needs to see it so he knows where to go if anything goes wrong.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, shoving the parchment at Draco. He narrowly prevented it from falling into his food, scanning the parchment until he saw, in slightly different handwriting, _“Shell Cottage, on the outskirts of Tinworth, Cornwall”_. 

Once again, an awkward silence settled over the table, the four of them quietly eating their food. 

“It’s getting late. I’m going to go upstairs,” Draco said quietly, quickly _scourgifying_ his plate and cutlery before going upstairs, getting dressed and climbing into bed, softly smiling at how Harry relaxed at Draco’s magic. It was nice to see at least _one_ person who was comfortable around him, even if it was only while they were unconscious.

* * *

Everyone except Draco gathered in the front hall at exactly half past eleven. 

“You’ve both got your apparation licenses, right?” Severus asked.

“Yeah.” Ron nodded. “And _nobody_ splinched their eyebrow the first time round.” Hermione snorted. 

Severus rolled his eyes. “It’s not that far, so hopefully no splinching should occur. Everyone ready?”

“It’s not _that_ big of a deal, we’re just going to Bill and Fleur’s for lunch.”

Severus suppressed a huff of indignation. Sure, it wasn’t a big deal for _Ron_ , but it was certainly a big deal for him. This would be the first time he’d been to see any members of the Order while not being a spy. And the first time he’d see Lupin — _Remus_ — since the aftermath of the battle at the Ministry. Remus had ran away, afterwards — doing valuable work with other werewolves, but still run away. Hopefully the time away would have helped him heal, but…Severus was still nervous about seeing him.

“Alright, alright, let’s just go.” Hermione stepped in between them, glaring at both of them. Severus stepped out of the door, wondering how on earth Hermione was the adult of the house — it _should_ be him, but sometimes Ron said things that just rubbed him the wrong way. He appreciated the bluntness — it was often preferable to the _‘socially acceptable’_ ways of the Slytherins he’s chosen to surround himself with in his youth, but it also tended to catch him off–guard.

“Are you sure M–Draco and Harry will be okay?” Ron asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes, exasperation evident in her tone. “Yes, obviously. Anyway, Harry’s unconscious.”

“Good point.”

If they said anything else, Severus didn’t hear, as he turned on his heel, feeling his robes flare out behind him as he apparated. The others wore muggle clothes — jeans and t-shirts, but Severus didn’t particularly like them. Too…exposing. And muggle suits were too formal, so he stuck to casual black robes.

They appeared a couple of seconds later in a flurry of sand. Severus glanced down and saw little granules at the bottom of his robes, so he cast a quick _impervious_ before heading towards the little cottage, heart beating slightly faster than usual. He didn’t _expect_ Remus to act with hostility — they’d been perfectly civil when they’d both been teaching, even if Remus had probably suspected that Severus had leaked his being a werewolf (he hadn’t — it had been nice to have someone his age to talk to in the staff room, and he would never stoop so low anyway,) but Severus still found himself checking his expression, making sure it was neutral, as the door opened.

Remus stepped aside to let Severus in with a little smile that uncoiled the knot of nervousness in his chest — there would be at least _one_ person not vying to obliviate him and set him loose in the woods. “Severus, looking as dramatic as ever, I see.”

“It’s not _dramatic_ , it’s _functional_.” 

“Whatever you say. Kitchen is down the hall.”

Severus rolled his eyes, and headed to the kitchen. _How was he supposed to deal with so many Gryffindors?_

“Professor! Glad you could make it.” Bill smilEd welcomingly, gesturing to the table. “Make yourself at home, pasta will be ready in a bit.”

“Just call me Severus. I’m not teaching, in any case.”

“Severus? No, that’s weird.” Bill frowned, before grinning in delight as Ron walked in. He immediately ran over, wrapping him in a hug.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m glad to see you too, but if you carry on strangling me I won’t be here for much longer,” Ron grumbled, even as a small smile danced around his mouth.

“Just excited to see my little brother.”

“I’m taller than you!”

“Sure, like that means anything.” Bill shook his head, before reaching up and ruffling Ron’s hair. “You’ll always be my little brother.”

Severus jumped — internally, of course — as a high pitched squeal and a thump sounded from the corridor. 

“And that’ll be Ginny,” Ron sighed, and then grunted as Ginny jumped on his back. 

“As if you didn’t miss me.”

“I didn’t miss you _jumping_ me.” He muttered, but turned around to give her a hug anyway. “How’re you holding up?” He added gently.

“I’m okay. We’re all doing the best that we can.”

“I can’t believe you threw me into the wall.” Hermione walked into the room, pulling her hair back and tying it with a band.

“I was excited to see you!”

Bill turned off the stove with a flick of his wand. “Everyone sit down, I’ll go get Fleur and then we can talk.”

Once everyone had greeted Fleur, discussions about the Order commenced quite abruptly.

“Y’know, the twins are going to be _fuming_ that we’re meeting up without them,” Ron said, still chewing on his pasta.

“We can send them an owl afterwards, it’ll be fine,” Bill replied.

“I’d still watch whatever they send back for pranks.”

“They _always_ put in pranks.”

“Okay, so who do we know that’s still loyal to the Order?” Remus cut in.

Bill bit his lip, before counting on his fingers as he listed people. “Well, there’s everyone in this room other than Ginny, who’s still underage,” Ginny glared at him, “some aurors — Kingsley will know who isn’t under the imperius. Some Hogwarts Professors — McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Hooch, and so on. There’s also the people in hiding or on the run — the Tonks family, Moody, Diggle, Doge, Podmore, Fletcher…” Severus sneered at the name. Mundungus Fletcher was useful, sure, but he was also a lying, stealing _git_.

“I tried to recruit some werewolves, but they really just want to be left alone. They’re not fighters, and the best we’ve got is that they’ve said they won’t go to You–Know–Who’s side.” Remus added.

“Charlie’s off in Romania, so he might recruit some people, or at the very least, get us some supplies.” Bill frowned. “Still, the numbers are low.”

“Well, they’re better than none. Do we know what the death eaters are doing?” Remus asked, and all heads turned to Severus.

“The Dark Lord preferred to keep me out of operations, but I do know the basic goals — gain control of the Ministry, which he’s done. Through that, he’ll gain control of Hogwarts, and then use Ministry documents and resources to hunt down muggleborns, before enslaving or exterminating the muggles.”

“You said ministry documents — so if we destroyed those, we could slow him down?” Ron asked hopefully.

“Yes, although a better course of action to take would be to steal them. Then we could save the muggleborns, or at the very least warn them. We’re too small to face the Dark Lord’s forces alone, but we can help others evade them.”

“So how do we get into the ministry…” Bill trailed off, and silence hung around the table before Hermione spoke.

“Polyjuice. The twins made a special one that lasts longer — if we assaulted some high ranking members of the ministry, people could easily get the documents we need.”

Remus frowned. “And how do they get out? It would be a bit difficult to smuggle massive piles of paper out, and in the case of an emergency, they’d need an extraction plan.”

“Portkeys.” Hermione said, as if the idea should have been obvious. “We’d have to have them go to a neutral location, since they can be tracked, but if it was close enough to apparate the paperwork to a safehouse then it wouldn’t be too difficult.”

“How can you come up with stuff like this, and yet be so terrible at chess?” Ron asked, earning him a kick in the shin from Hermione, and Ginny to snicker beside her.

Bill rocked back on two legs of his chair, before Fleur slapped him on the shoulder and glared at him, so he rolled his eyes and the front two legs fell down with a clatter. It was easy for Severus to forget, but really, they were all still _kids_. They shouldn’t have to do this. And yet, Bill had a determined look on his face as he said, “Okay, so that will be the first course of action. We’ll need a main base of operations as well — we can’t use your place, or here, since they’re under the fidelius and we can’t have too many people knowing the Secret.”

“What about — what about the Burrow?” Ron looked nervous under everyone’s gaze, before steeling himself and continuing. “There are plenty of bedrooms, and if we remove everything of value — sentimental value — and store it here, or in Grimmauld, we can set up wards around the Burrow and have it as the main house.”

“It’s a good idea, but…would you guys be okay with it? And the twins, where would they stay?” Remus asked.

“They’ve got a flat over their shop, but they can also come here if they need. Ginny? Are you okay?” Bill asked.

She took a deep breath, tears lining her eyes, and nodded. “This is war. We have to do what we need to, and we’re not staying there anyway. If we spend the next couple of days clearing it out…it should be fine.”

Hermione patted her arm. “If it gets too crowded here, we have space in our place as well — it’s the old Black house, so there’s something like ten bedrooms, and they’ve all been cleared out, even if they could use a bit of a clean.”

“We’ll bear that in mind.” Bill nodded.

The conversation continued for hours, making plans for the next few days, figuring out how to get in touch with various Order members, who to invite to the first meeting, and other things. Severus mentioned that he’d have to be spending more time making healing potions, if this is what they were getting into, and remembered about Remus’ werewolf problem. He volunteered to make wolfsbane, but realised if he was to be spending this much time brewing, he probably wouldn’t have time to teach the kids defence. Remus agreed to take that over, three times a week. 

Ron told the others about Grimmauld Place, and they keyed the floo networks together so that they’d be able to floo back and forth easily. Since both places had floo networks that used to be connected to the main network, it wasn’t difficult to make an exclusive connection between the two houses. 

They ended up having dinner with Bill and Fleur, before flooing back to Grimmauld, with a bit more hope. Granted, they were woefully outmatched, but they had a _plan_. 

* * *

Harry woke up a little stiff, but well rested, to Draco sitting on the bed beside him, reading some old dusty parchment. 

He watched him, for a moment. It was still odd to see Draco when he was completely relaxed — he slouched a little, shoulders curving inwards as he scanned the paper. He breathed in through his nose, and out through his mouth, often mouthing random words. His right hand was fidgeting, something Harry had _never_ seen Draco do — his thumb and index finger were in small circles on either side of the parchment in time to his breathing.

Harry might have observed more had he not suddenly had to yawn. Draco immediately stiffened, his shoulders dropping and neck lengthening, his fingers abruptly stopping their movements, his mouth closing. 

“And he awakes.”

“How long was I asleep?” Harry asked, wincing at the soreness of his throat.

“Close to forty hours. I think you came close to waking up a couple of times, but the thing with the pensieve and Kreacher must have really tired you out.”

“Wow.”

“Yes, I’d have to agree. I’m going to get you some food and potions and stuff, and,” he paused to delicately sniff at the air, “run you a bath. You need to get out of this bloody bed.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably as Draco, and his warm magic, left the bed. “That sounds good.”

“I thought so.” He casually casted a warming charm over Harry before leaving the room. Feeling quite awake now, Harry sat up and put on his glasses before picking up the parchment Draco had been reading. It was quite boring, just some in–depth information about _Carnes Consuo_ , but it was better than just staring at the wall. He skimmed the text, not really absorbing the information. 

“Going to take up healing, Potter?” Draco smirked as he nudged the door open with his foot, holding his wand in one hand and some vials in the other, some food levitating behind him.

“Aren’t you supposed to call me Harry?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Only when Hermione’s here.”

“Oh so _she_ gets to be on a first name basis, is it?”

“Yes, _Potter_.” 

Harry huffed, quickly drinking the potions before starting on the toast. “Since when do you know how to use a toaster?”

“What, you mean that weird metal box? I just used an _incendio_. Much more accurate.”

“ _Accurate?_ ” Harry shook his head — he’d only tried to use an incendio on bread once, which had resulted in a lump of charcoal.

“Yes, Potter, accurate. Because some of us, when spell–casting, are _less_ destructive than a hippogriff in a china shop.”

Harry rolled his eyes and ate his toast, which had come with the perfect amount of butter and jam. “So did your super–accurate _incendio_ also put the perfect amount of butter and jam on my toast?”

Draco sneered, the tips of his ears turning pink. “As if you don’t know how I have my toast.”

“With stupid amounts of raspberry jam and no butter,” Harry immediately replied, feeling his face grow warm under Draco’s triumphant gaze.

“I rest my point.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Can I have my bath now?”

“Can you walk?”

Harry shrugged, pulling back the duvet and swinging his legs off the bed. “Only one way to find out,” he said, pushing himself off the bed and immediately falling into Draco.

“You dipshit, there is not _‘only one way to find out’_ , what a _Gryffindor_ way of thinking…” Draco continued to mutter under his breath as he pulled Harry back onto unsteady feet and half–carried him to the bathroom.

“Alright, _I’m alright now_ ,” Harry protested as they approached the bathroom door. “I hadn’t used them in six weeks, they were a bit dead, but they’re alright now.”

“Excellent.” Draco opened the door, and after making sure that Harry could, in fact, walk, closed the door.

After deciding that Draco _wouldn’t_ randomly burst in, Harry started to take of his clothes, grimacing at the state of them. They’d been cleaned with various charms, but they were still torn, with some bloodstains that couldn’t be removed. Stepping out of his briefs, Harry stared in the mirror, hardly recognising the man who stood before him. He had loads of scabbed cuts all over his body, the most noticeable of which being the two cuts on his face, and one deep gash going around his side, parallel to his rib cage. He had more across his torso, criss–crossing over skin patchy with old scars from the Dursley’s. He knew, if he turned around, there would be even more cuts and scars. He adamantly refused to look at his left arm, where he knew a skull and a snake was carved in excruciating detail. His skin was sallow, his bones stuck out everywhere, his arms and legs were unbelievably thin, and his once bright green eyes had dulled, his hair stringy and matted above them. 

Harry shook his head. He’d get better — he _had_ to. At least, if only to die again. 

He sunk into the bath, wincing as hot water bit at his wounds. It wasn’t too bad though; he’d _certainly_ been through worse. He sank lower until his head was underwater, listening to nothing in particular, ignoring the pain of his lungs for as long as he could. He suddenly emerged with a gasp, before leaning against the cool porcelain. He opened his eyes, and spotting a bottle, quickly soaped up his hair and scrubbed it clean, before dipping below the water once more. Satisfied that his hair was clean, he slid down so that only his head was out, resting against the edge of the tub.

He closed his eyes, just for a moment, but the steam and soothing scent of the soap must have made him pass out, because next thing he knew, he was in bed. 

“What the fuck?”

“Oh, you’re awake.”

“Did I sleepwalk here?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “No, after three hours of not hearing anything from you, and after you didn’t answer when I almost hammered the door down, I figured that you’d either fallen asleep or died. The water was cold, so I put you in bed. Don’t worry,” he added, as Harry’s expression morphed into one of horror, “I didn’t _see_ anything.”

Harry nodded in acknowledgment, but still pulled the duvet higher, as if it could erase what Draco _had_ seen. He closed his eyes, escaping to an uneasy sleep.

* * *

After clearing out the Burrow and putting most of the stuff in a large storage room that had appeared in Grimmauld Place, which had been a very emotional event for everyone involved, they started the rather boring task of bringing the order together. Hermione remembered the protean charm that she’d used for the DA, and decided to do something similar, with a knut that would grow warm under the touch of the person it was keyed to — a similar piece of magic to that of the snitch. It was tricky business, charming the knuts without touching them, but she managed it, leaving everyone else to write letters. 

Most of the people they wrote to replied, although Kingsley’s letter came with worrying news that a lot of the people who he knew to be able to throw off the imperius curse had disappeared, allegedly on ‘sick leave’. They figured that they’d experienced the same fate as the people who hadn’t replied, but on the bright side, those numbers were few, and all members of the Hogwarts staff they’d contacted had replied.

Another good thing was that Kreacher had become more agreeable after the incident in Harry and Draco’s bedroom. They weren’t sure whether it was because of the presence of someone descended from the Black family, or Hermione and Ron helping with his Master Regulus’ dying wish, but he suddenly revealed excellent cooking and cleaning skills, allowing the residents of Grimmauld Place to indulge in two large meals a day in a spotless dining room. 

Thanks to regular meals, more healing and nutrition potions from Severus, and Draco’s presence, Harry begun to have more energy and put on weight, often reading various books in his free time. Hermione and Ron wouldn’t let him help with the research on horcruxes due to Draco’s presence, but he read some old stories, wizarding and muggle alike. Ron had been particularly eager to get him to read the Tales of Beedle the Bard, since it was what he’d grown up on — Harry had found the stories rather grim for young children, and had been particularly drawn to the Tale of Three Brothers, shooting glances at his trunk in the corner as he read about an invisibility cloak that sounded awfully familiar.

He also had daily baths, at Draco’s insistence, and despite his best efforts, fell asleep in the tub every time, waking in his bed afterwards. He’d given up on complaining about it, after once waking when Draco had been carrying him — _physically_ carrying him, rather than levitating him — and set him down heartbreakingly gently on the bed, before pulling up the covers. 

In fact, Harry had found Draco to be a surprisingly good friend to have — he made sure that Harry ate and drank, and had a dry, sarcastic sense of humour that often had Harry wheezing with laughter. Not that it took much, these days — his lungs were royally fucked, just like the rest of him — but back in the dungeon, he’d thought that he’d never laugh again. And yet here he was — alive, with his friends, laughing on a daily basis. It was almost enough to ignore the pain completely. 

Draco was surprised to find that he was feeling _affection_ towards Potter. He looked forward to when he woke up, finding that Potter’s humour was surprisingly Slytherin, and had found himself referring to Potter as _Harry_ more and more often in his mind, which he found disconcerting. He did not, however, appreciate the knowing glances Severus and Remus shot him whenever he took some food from a meal up to Potter.

After being completely and utterly sure that he wouldn’t accidentally _kill_ Potter, Draco finally did a diagnosis spell to see Potter’s physical injuries. They were terrible — not only were there several broken ribs and fractures in his tibula, he had several very deep cuts that weren’t going to heal easily, and evidence of very old injuries. Sure, he knew that Potter hadn’t had the _best_ childhood, but there were bones that had been previously broken multiple times and hadn’t healed properly, based on how the bones formed slightly crooked shapes, and raised tissue where scars had built up over time. 

He’d deal with the bad injuries first, and after the war — after they’d _all_ survived — Draco would _force_ Harry — _Potter, goddamnit_ — to go to a healer and sort out all of his bones. He’d done well with them so far, but he had enough basic knowledge to know that over time, they could cause significant damage, especially around his joints. 

He’d almost mastered the spell to heal cuts, _Carnes Consuo_ ; it would take him a week at most to be confident in using it on Potter. He’d already tried dittany on them, but the potion had as much of an effect as water would, meaning they’d either been caused by dark magic, or cursed objects; likely Bellatrix’s silver knives. He didn’t know what curses she put on them, but he hadn’t sensed any dark magic around them, so they were likely the basic ones to make the tissue immune to healing potions, rather than relying on residual magic. Thankfully, Potter had no damage to his organs, which would have been even more difficult for Draco to heal. 

Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione had been spending most of their days in the library, only remembering meals because of Ron’s rumbling stomach. They flicked through book after book filled with disturbing information about dark curses, objects and rituals, several of which detailed the process of making horcruxes. After being certain that they didn’t have the relevant information, Hermione made sure to burn those pages — as much as it killed her to damage such old books, making sure that information didn’t get into the wrong hands was much more important.

Having spent years doing research in the library, Hermione found that she was in her element; Ron, less so. He often found his mind wandering as he stared out of a window onto dreary London, wondering what the view would be from the Burrow, or what his parents would be doing, if they were alive… 

Hermione often brought him back to reality with a gentle hand on his arm. She tried to talk to him — most of the time, especially when the episodes, for lack of a better word, had first started, he’d to shut her out, or changed the subject with false enthusiasm, but a couple of times, he’d opened up, staring listlessly at the bookshelves behind her. After a while, his eyes cleared, and she’d dropped a shy kiss on his cheek. Around a week later, he talked to her every time, and they’d started sleeping in the same bed. And after a couple nights, a little _more_ than that. 

One useful thing that had come out of their research was a spell to remove marks infused with dark magic. Hermione and Ron had immediately sprinted down to Severus, whose face had lit up in a rare show of positive emotion. Remus had walked in, looked at the spell and immediately volunteered to do the spell. He’d estimated five days, just to be sure, since he wouldn’t get any practice rounds.

When he wasn’t learning the spell, he went back and forth between Grimmauld Place and Shell Cottage, making plans for the Order. Three times a week, as promised, he took Ron, Hermione and Draco with him to Shell Cottage, and taught the three of them, as well as Ginny, as many duelling techniques as he could. He was glad to see that they all did well, although they all had their strengths and weaknesses — Ginny had the lowest range in spells, but fought most viciously, and her style was very unorthodox and fluid, making it harder for people to predict what she was going to do next — Hermione had clearly learned many spells, and wasn’t afraid to use them — Ron could figure out his opponents weaknesses and exploit them — and Draco was a marvel to watch, as graceful as a dancer as he dodged and threw spells within the same breath, but was fixed in his technique; while it was impressive, once Ron had figured out how to get behind his defence, he was easily beaten. However, he was still the best out of the three, and improved further as he observed Ginny’s new techniques and exchanged spells with Hermione. 

Regardless, Harry had taught the Gryffindors well in the DA, and Draco had been taught well by his teacher; likely his mother, since his style was reminiscent of Sirius’. Likely a form passed down through the generations of Blacks.

Remus lost himself in the work — he had so many things to do, it was easy — anything to avoid thinking about his grief. About Molly and Arthur. His friends. His family.

Although, in a way, these were his new family — the Weasleys seemed to have a habit of taking in strays. Harry and Hermione, himself, even the Slytherins had been accepted, and they moved around each other as if they’d been side by side for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Myself and detectivetalos came up with Carnes Consuo for our joint fic, Pinky Promises, which is an AU set in Harry’s third year where Remus finds out about the Dursleys :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I’m posting later than usual, I’ve had a shit tonne of work and forgot to do the editing last night so I’ve just done it (oops) 
> 
> Also, I don’t know if you noticed but I’ve got an estimate for the total number of chapters! I’ve planned out what’s going to happen in each one, and I think I’ll manage to stick to it :)
> 
> TW for a little bit of violence and pain.

“I’m _sure_ I’ve got the spell down,” Draco mumbled under his breath, his fingers tracing a delicate pattern on the parchment as his grey eyes scanned the pages, oblivious to Harry watching him from the other side of the bed.

“Which spell?” Harry asked, regretting it immediately as Draco stiffened, and sat upright, carefully smoothing his previously creased brow.

“How long have you been watching?” Draco asked.

“Are we talking today, or over the course of Hogwarts?” Harry found himself feeling increasingly reckless regarding information he revealed about the past, as he grew more comfortable around Draco.

“Either. Both.”

“Hogwarts…I’ve been watching you since first year. Always thought you were ‘up to something’, you see. And today… not _that_ long.” Harry smirked as Draco glared at him.

“That wasn’t an answer.” 

“It’s all you’re getting. Which spell?”

Draco tapped his parchment. “ _Carnes consuo_. It’ll take care of those cuts.”

Harry struggled upright, wiggling a bit like a flobberworm until he was sitting with his back to the headboard. He gestured his face and said “well, go ahead.”

“But what if I screw it up? I should really test it on myself…”

Harry grabbed his arm as he started to get up from his chair. “Just do it. You’ve always been good at magic, and…” Harry hesitated, but Draco’s worried face strengthened his resolve. He was surprised to believe it as he said, “I trust you.” 

“You shouldn’t.”

“I don’t take advice well. Just do the bloody spell.” 

Draco looked at Harry curiously, before taking Harry’s hand in his own. He chose a deep cut running up the side of his forearm, and pointed his wand at it, the end trembling slightly, and he didn’t make a move to heal the cut.

“Oh come on, get on with it.” Harry rolled his eyes as Draco’s gaze flicked from his face, and back to the cut, still not making any move to do the spell. “Scared, Malfoy?”

That got Harry a small smile. “You wish.” He moved his wand along the cut as he said the incantation.

Harry winced as the cut was torn open, before Draco’s warm, soothing magic pooled around it and stitched the skin together by an invisible thread, before disappearing, leaving a very thin, white scar.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. “That spell is very sensitive to ambient magic, so I was concerned that maybe it wouldn’t work, but apparently whatever magic that was preventing the dittany from working wasn’t strong enough to affect it.”

Harry nodded, having no idea what Draco had just said. “Can you keep going, then?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He worked from Harry’s face downwards, Harry watching Draco relax before his eyes. At the start, he’d been the perfect pureblood — hair in neat waves, perfect posture, movements measured and controlled. However, as he continued healing Harry’s cuts, he started to fidget, running his free hand through his hair multiple times in a way that reminded Harry of his father when _he_ was younger, or fiddling with the hem of his shirt. His hair slowly became messier, curling more at the front and escaping the neat lines. Harry preferred it — it made Draco seem more…approachable. More _real_.

There had been an awkward moment when Draco had seen the mock dark mark on Harry’s wrist after healing it, a stark white scar remaining against his caramel skin, a reverse of Draco’s dark mark on his pale skin.

“Now we’re matching!” Harry had said, attempting to lighten the situation, but Draco had bit his lip and shook his head.

“Not for long. Professor Lupin said that they found a spell to remove it.”

“That’s brilliant, though!”

“I can’t — but you’ll be the only person with a dark mark. And you’re the _Golden Boy_.”

Harry weakly punched him in the arm. “Don’t call me that. This isn’t really a dark mark, anyway — it’s _white_ , for Merlin’s sake.”

Draco had nodded, but done the rest of the cuts on Harry’s torso in silence, not speaking until he saw Harry’s back. Harry shivered slightly as Draco’s fingers had run along the old scars.

“I wish I could do something about these, too.”

Harry had remained silent for a moment, allowing the statement to hang in the air. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

Harry shrugged. “Are you tired? You’ve healed a lot of cuts today.”

Draco didn’t reply for a moment, and Harry’s neck prickled as he could still feel Draco’s eyes on his scarred back.

“Yeah, a bit. I’ll do your legs tomorrow, if that’s okay?”

Harry nodded, turning around to face Draco. He waited until Draco looked him in the eye, before saying, “Thank you.”

He nodded and again broke the eye contact, before poking Harry in the waist instead of telling him to budge over and, as soon as Harry had given him enough room, climbing into the bed.

“Gonna have a nap?” Harry asked, amused.

“Just a lil’ one,” Draco mumbled, already half asleep. 

Figuring that there wasn’t much else for him to do, Harry also buried himself under the covers and, marvelling at lack of pain without the cuts on his upper body, fell asleep.

* * *

Harry had forgotten how especially _large_ the Dursleys were. Specifically, Vernon Dursley, as he dragged Harry by the arm to his cupboard.

“No, no, please don’t take me there, don’t lock me in, I’ll be good, just _don’t_ lock me in,” Harry said, frantically scrabbling for purchase on the carpet, trying to get _away_ from the cupboard. That horrible, tiny cupboard. What had he been thinking, at Grimmauld? There was _no_ escape from the darkness.

He curled up in the corner, on his bed, which was a lot harder than he’d remembered. He flinched as the door shut, leaving him in a tiny, lightless box. He shut his eyes as tightly as possible, rocking back and forth, wishing frantically for someone, _anyone_ , to save him.

His eyes flew open as he heard heels against stone. Not her, not her, he was in the cupboard—

But _no, he wasn’t_ — he opened his eyes to see the familiar bars in front of him, the precise _clips_ of Bellatrix’s heels against the stone floor growing ever louder as she walked down the steps. He suddenly realised — _it was all a dream._ Malfoy and Snape hadn’t _rescued_ him — they would never do that, anyway. They didn’t care. And no one else knew where he was. This was his life now — torture, and pain…but never death.

He tried desperately to occlude, to _get away_ — he calmed his breathing, tried to bring his mind away, to that part of his mind that _wasn’t_ — but it wasn’t there, or there was something blocking him — a veil, a film that kept him from escaping. He pushed against it harder, as Bellatrix came around the corner, knives already in hand throwing them as she walked towards Harry. They all struck true — in his arms, his legs, his abdomen. As he curled in on himself, he was suddenly hoisted up by ropes, a canvas ready for Bellatrix’s knives, warm blood already pouring down his body through open wounds that slowly widened as his arms were pulled away from his body.

As she entered the cell, Harry tried one last time to break through the film, screaming with the effort. As a knife was thrown towards his face, directly at his eye, he succeeded, the entire world going back as the knife made contact—

And then the world was filled with colour again, as he was shaken awake and opened his eyes to see Draco’s.

* * *

Draco knew his ideal way to be woken up, after sharing a bed with someone.

Preferably a blowjob (he’d had a fair few from Blaise, in sixth year), but at the very least, to the scent of breakfast. Perhaps that was his high standards showing, but a man can dream, right?

He knew that it certainly wasn’t Potter’s hand slapping him in the face.

He rolled on his back, rubbing his eyes, ready to give Potter a verbal lashing because _really, it didn’t matter whether or not he was_ sleeping _, he needed to keep to_ his _side of the bed,_ but then Potter murmured “I’ll be good, just don’t lock the cupboard.”

The words died in Draco’s throat as he blinked and looked at Har–Potter’s face. It was contorted with terror, his eyebrows were drawn in and up and his breathing was increasing in rate.

Draco placed a hand on Potter’s arm, ready to withdraw if Potter woke up, but he simply continued to breath quickly, his hands twitching slightly.

 _Maybe he’s running_ , Draco thought. _Maybe he likes going for a morning jog._

No such luck.

Potter started whimpering and shaking as something happened, muttering something about getting past something. Draco had no idea what was going on, but knew that he had to get Potter out of that dream.

He started to shake Potter’s arm, but he started screaming when Draco did, so he let go. Potter then stopped screaming, going into abrupt silence, and Draco sat up, trying to see if there was another way to wake him up, but the twitching suddenly commenced again, and Draco just though _fuck it_ . He grabbed Potter’s shoulders — they still felt so fragile, despite the weight he’d put on — and shook him gently, hissing _Potter_ as loud as he dared. Not that it would help — Potter’s scream would _definitely_ have woken up everyone else up — but Draco frantically screaming “Potter!” wouldn’t help in the slightest.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief as Potter’s bright green eyes flew open, wide at the sight of Draco. Suddenly aware of his position — one leg draped over Potter, his nose bare inches from Draco’s — and flew off as quickly as he could.

“Sorry I woke you up.” Potter murmured.

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.” Potter sighed softly. “Haven’t had one in a while. Turns out I was just too tired.”

“I guess…it’s a sign that you’re healing? A shitty sign, but a sign nonetheless.”

Potter nodded softly. “Yeah, I guess I’ll just…” He trailed off, staring at the ceiling.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Potter shook his head, sitting up and taking deep breaths.

“Are you okay?” Draco cringed internally as he asked — clearly Potter was _not._

“Yeah I’m — I’m fine.” Potter wheezed, his breathing once again speeding up.

“I can literally hear you having a panic attack — for Merlin’s sake, Potter, _breathe._ ”

“I am,” he took a breath, _“trying_ ,” another breath, “Malfoy.”

“Low blow, Potter. Come on, in, and out, in, and out, it’s not _that_ difficult, even for an idiot such as yourself…”

Potter glared at him, but Draco’s words were clearly working as his breathing became more even. Draco decided to take a chance and rub small circles into Harry’s back — it had always helped him when he was younger, after a nightmare, when his mother would rub his back. He felt a pang of sadness at the thought of his mother, but no, now was not the time to be feeling sad. Now, he had to be there for Harry.

To Draco’s relief, Harry leaned into the touch, relaxing further.

“Better, Harry?” Draco asked gently, and Harry sat up, surprised. Draco’s hand stopped moving, in fear — maybe he shouldn’t have talked? Harry needed to heal, and being paranoid about Draco’s weirdness wasn’t going to help—

“You called me Harry.”

 _Shit._ “I most certainly did _not_ , Potter.” Draco found that he couldn’t stop the small smile playing at his lips at the sound of Harry talking normally, and hoped that the dark room would hide it.

“You can’t take it back.”

“There’s nothing to take back. Anyway, it’s still dark outside, Potter — go back to sleep.”

Harry huffed and lay back down. Draco followed suit, hoping that Harry couldn’t hear his heart pounding. 

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but Draco couldn’t help but feel that the next time he woke up was much more pleasant — at some point, Harry had abandoned his side of the bed, and was curled up in a small ball, pressed into Draco, while Draco had one arm lazily draped over him. 

If he didn’t move until he knew Harry was waking up…no one would know, anyway.

* * *

Narcissa kept her bag, ready to leave, on her at all times. It was only small, with an undetectable extension charm, so it was easily hidden under her robes.

Still, she’d found herself in no danger, so continued to reside in the manor.

It was odd, to see how the dynamic around the Dark Lord changed without Severus. The Dark Lord, for one, seemed a lot more insecure; he was always briefly looking to his right, which was where Severus used to stand. However, this was always followed by a round of _crucios_ , likely to try and assert his dominance. It seemed to work on most people, but Narcissa noted this weakness. 

His plans hadn’t changed — he was clearing the ministry of everyone who wasn’t loyal to him as quickly as possible. He had the Prophet already printing anti–muggleborn propaganda, currently under the guise of concern, but he would likely have most of public opinion turned to his side by the end of summer.

What was most worrying to her, was his plans for Hogwarts. He already had a headmistress chosen — a toad–faced which, who’s expression was closer to the malicious glee of the Carrows than the blank, neutral expression of those under the imperius, which meant the children were in even more danger than usual.

That was one thing that was good about Draco leaving — he wouldn’t _dare_ go back to Hogwarts. She wanted to go to Hogwarts, but she couldn't draw attention to herself — however, if there were any positions open, and the Dark lord was looking for volunteers, she would go. She was adept at most subjects, in any case. 

Until then, she would watch. 

* * *

Not for the first time that day, Severus traced his dark mark over his robes. This afternoon, that skin would be unblemished.

He hadn’t allowed the skin of his wrist to breathe since he’d left the Manor, wrapping a bandage around the ugly mark at the first opportunity and spelling it to repel all liquids and dirt so that he wouldn’t have to take it off. But today, he would finally remove it.

He’d watched Remus take Draco’s off yesterday — it had been painful, judging by Draco’s silent winces, but the way he’d looked at his wrist in wonder, lightly grazed his fingers over the clear skin…Draco had assured them both that the pain had been well worth it.

But first, he had to put up some wards around the Burrow. Since he had a Dark Mark, he could use the ambient magic around it to key the wards to specifically repel anyone who had one. It wouldn’t keep them safe from _all_ of Voldemort’s supporters, but it would take care of a large chunk.

He gritted his teeth and looked around, once again. He was about a hundred metres away from the Burrow, but Remus and Fleur stood at his sides, ready to act if anything went wrong. He looked at his bandage again — it looked as fresh as when he’d first put it on. He gritted his teeth and started unwinding it, averting his eyes when the mark was exposed to the damp, summer air. He forced himself to look at it, the black ink start against his pale skin, and took a deep breath. 

“Alright?” Remus asked.

Severus nodded, and took another deep breath, before starting the enchantment. It was a modified version of the muggle repelling ward, but could be keyed to someone, or something’s, magical signature. It was normally used to keep owls out — since all owls have similar magical signatures — but using the magic from around the mark, he could keep everyone with a mark — including the Dark Lord himself, since he was the one who administered it — out. Even better, the wards couldn’t be taken down by anyone they were keeping out. This wouldn’t be a huge issue for the Dark Lord, if he decided he was truly desperate to get into the building, but it could certainly buy them time.

His mark began to burn, and then freeze, as Severus coaxed out small tendrils of dark magic and amplified them, before threading them into the wards. He began to feel the strain of the wards on his magic, but he gritted his teeth and continued to give — once this was finished, he could rest. And get this bloody mark off. 

He held the wards a moment longer than he had to, just to make sure, before finally dropping his arms. He was panting with exertion, and a light sweat had broken across his forehead. 

He turned and nodded at Remus and Fleur, who both took three steps forward. Remus smiled as he turned to Severus. “Yep, they’re definitely there. Now you try — if you can’t get in, we’ll know they’ve worked.”

Inwardly groaning at the thought of having to move, he straightened his back and caustiously moved forwards, grimacing as his hands came across a barrier, which caused an unpleasant spark against his skin similar to static electricity.

“They’re up.” Severus said.

“Brilliant. Now back to Grimmauld, so that we can get that mark off once and for all.”

Severus nodded and gathered the last dregs of his magic, apparating directly into the dining room of Grimmauld Place and collapsing in the nearest chair. 

Remus appeared a moment later, and summoned the papers at the other end of the table, quickly skimming them before turning to Severus.

“I just wanted to make sure that I was doing the right spell,” Remus offered as an explanation, but Severus didn’t miss the way his voice quavered slightly.

“It’s fine. I trust you. Now get on with it, I want to go to sleep.”

Remus huffed lightly. “Alright, hold out your left wrist, mark to the air.”

Severus did so, and Remus wasted no time in starting the spell, moving his wand in a series of loops over the mark, his wand leaving a pale purple shimmer in the air in a diamond–like shape, while murmuring under his breath. 

Severus gasped as the shape was completed, and the magic started to work. It felt like the magic was carving out a section of his skin, slowly, with a slightly blunt knife, before peeling back the skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, before opening them and studying the wall in front of him. Green tiles, well polished, splatters of grease towards the bottom.

He started counting the specks of grease, to try and distract himself from the ever–present sensation of an invisible knife, carving ever deeper. He half expected to see pools of blood, should he look, even though he knew all he would say is the gradual fading of the mark. 

Around the 130th speck, the pain suddenly ceased.

“There you go. No more mark.” Remus grinned, before stretching his arms out. “I’m going to go get myself a snack. Do you want anything?”

There was a beat of silence as Severus processed that Remus had asked him a question. He was tracing the veins under his skin. Somewhere, deep down, he’d thought that it wouldn’t work, because he’d had it for so long, and yet here he was — with a perfectly clear wrist, matching with his right.

“No, no thank you. I think I’m going to head off to bed. Thank you,” he added, as Remus turned to leave, “I — I genuinely cannot express my gratitude enough.”

“It was no problem, don’t worry about it.” Remus nodded at Severus, before leaving at the question. Severus traced the clear skin one more time, before rising on unsteady feet and going to his room, passing out as soon as he lay down. 

* * *

Remus studied the little crescent–shaped marks his nails had left in the wood of the dining room table with detached interest as members of the Order continued to file in. He’d been allocated as the designated talker for their circle — he was the oldest, save Severus, and had never been a death eater, meaning he was the most trusted in the group. Of course, his _problem_ made him still not fully worthy of trust, in many people’s eyes, but Shaklebolt had already expressed in his letters that he would wholeheartedly support any idea Remus presented, given that it wasn’t, in his words, “a crackpot idea likely to come out of Mundungus’ mouth after a night at the pub.”

Kingsley and his most trusted aurors had gathered in one group, and the Hogwarts Professors had gathered in another, along with Snape. The Weasleys sat around Remus — Draco had once again stayed behind with Harry, who was improving considerably. He still hadn’t gone downstairs, but he often went outside onto a balcony, which had appeared after Harry had wandered down the corridor, and sat on a rickety chair for an hour while watching the busy London street.

Despite this, Remus’ heart ached at the lack of faces, both new and old, present at the meeting. They would try to recruit new people — muggleborns especially, if they were capable of fighting — but the fact that the full extent of their forces fit in the kitchen of the Burrow was still very disheartening.

He had a letter from Charlie sitting on the table beside him, which he kept skimming to make sure that he hadn’t missed anything. The general gist was that the Romanians were reluctant to travel to England to participate in a war that hadn’t quite started, but they were willing to send supplies and provide shelter for people in need, if they could make it there. Some colonies in Hungary, Serbia and Bulgaria were also saying they’d help with temporary food and shelter as well. Fleur had sent letters to her contacts in France and Germany, but she was confident that they would also be willing to help. The wizarding populations in other European countries, while secretive, were actually very friendly and helpful, contrary to popular belief.

Remus took a deep breath, as the last of the Order filed in. Bill laid a hand on his shoulder and nodded, murmuring under his breath, “it’ll be fine.”

Remus nodded once, before standing, the scrape of the chair on tiles effectively shutting everyone up. Sweating under the weight of their stares, Remus began to speak.

“I’d first like to thank you all for coming today. I’ll cut straight to the chase; we’re here to formulate a plan, perhaps not to fight You–Know–Who directly, but to thwart his plans. 

“Firstly, I think our first priority should be to help any and all muggleborns in Great Britain, as his first plan is to capture and imprison, and eventually exterminate, them. As we speak, the Prophet is printing anti–muggleborn propaganda, to excuse the ministry taking them and locking them in Azkaban, regardless of age. They’ve already released several death eaters from the prison for ‘good behaviour’, or some other bullshit excuse, and are going to be using various documents in the Ministry to track down muggleborns and…well, you get the idea.   
  
“I propose that we go in under polyjuice as high–ranking ministry officials, with hairs obtained when and where we can, and take as many documents as we can; at the very least, if there is no way to remove them, incinerate the documents with fiendfyre so they cannot be replicated. Everyone involved in the operation will carry portkeys which will take you to a neutral location in an emergency, which will be close to a safe house where you can apparats to. The safe house will be somewhere under a temporary fidelius for everyone to apparate to, just for the course of this operation, in case we need somewhere to hide for a day or two. Questions?” Everyone had listened raptly, and a few people raised their hands. Remus was surprised — he’d been to many Order meetings, and they often resulted in a shouting match. Never had everyone been so polite. 

“It’s because you exude the confidence of a Professor,” Ron whispered.

“He _is_ a professor, you dolt,” Ginny replied, also in a whisper.

“ _Was_.” Ron hissed, and Bill elbowed both of them. 

Ignoring the scuffle behind him, Remus cleared his throat and said, “Kingsley?”

“That is an excellent plan, but I wondered how many people you would need going in? I’m sure myself and the aurors,” he gestured to his group of people, “could get ahold of any hair you need, but there are only so many people in top positions that would have access to the documents.”

“Well, I was hoping you, or someone else who works in the Ministry, could tell me, since I have no idea how many documents there are, how easily they could be shrunk and removed, all that.”

It turned out that one of the aurors had originally worked in the archives, and still had contacts there. He knew that Umbridge had taken some files into her office, but the majority would still be there. The archives were huge, but most of it was tracking crimes and finances, so they estimated five people with satchel bags to shrink and place documents in, maximum, plus two more — one for fighting, and one to sneak into Umbridge’s office, as Umbridge, and remove the additional files from there.

Another discussion decided on the seven people to impersonate; they’d have to be high–ranking enough to not get questioned, but not _so_ high ranking that they’d be significantly out of place in the archives. They’d decided on Umbridge, Albert Runcorn, who was heading up the immigration and muggleborn registration committee, three people who worked down in the archives, and a couple of the aurors would go as themselves. They would take small pins with disillusionment charms as their portkeys, with charms on so only they could use them, and they’d put a temporary fidelius around a large shed near the Burrow, which would be close enough to provide aid from the Burrow without placing a fidelius around the actual building, which would negate the anti–dark mark wards, while the Portkeys would go to a forest around fifty miles away — close enough to apparate, not so close that the Ministry would be able to figure out where they were going. 

“Well, now that thats sorted, the second topic of today: Hogwarts. Can you fill us in?” Remus asked McGonagall, who’d been sitting quietly with the rest of the professors while plans for the Ministry were made.

Her eyes flashed darkly as she began talking. “The Ministry has taken all power away from the governors, making the Wizemgot in charge of staffing. Thankfully, they haven’t fired any of us yet, but they’ve put the Carrows twins in as professors,” gasps were heard from all around the room, and McGonagall nodded darkly, “and _Dolores Umbridge_ ,” she snarled, “is the headmistress. It’s going to be like the year before last all over again. On the bright side, the portraits, the elves, and the Head’s office all recognise me as Headmistress. I doubt that the office will let Umbridge in, thankfully, and the elves will be able to provide food in the room of requirement.” She looked directly at Ginny. “I hate to ask this of you, Miss Weasley, but if you are going back to Hogwarts—”

“She is _not!”_ the twins, Bill and Ron all immediately shouted. 

Remus turned around to watch Ginny shout back, “it is _not_ your decision! I am almost of age, and can make my own decisions, so if I need to go back to Hogwarts — which I _will_ , because I’m the only one who _can_ — to look after the younger years, then I bloody well will, and none of you overbearing _idiots_ ,” she brandished her index finger at the boys, who flinched slightly from the action, which was quite similar to Molly Weasley, “will stop me, because it is the right thing to do, and I won’t let you.”

“We just don’t want to lose you,” Ron said quietly.

“And you won’t, because I’ve been taught how to duel, and I’ll just stay in the Room anyway. I just need to close all the loopholes, I’ll be fine.”

“Well,” McGonagall said, “it looks as if Miss Weasley has the same idea as myself. Don’t put yourself in too much danger, as we will all be looking out for everyone as well, but if you could spread the word, it would be appreciated.”

Ginny nodded. 

A thought suddenly occurred to Remus. The archives would show all muggleborns that had already attended Hogwarts, but what about those who should be going this year? “Professor McGonagall—”

“I take it it’s pointless to ask you to call me Minerva?” McGonagall sighed.

“Yes. Can you see muggleborns who are supposed to be attending Hogwarts in September?”

“Yes, it would be on the documents, because we cannot send owls to their houses. I can get them to you by Thursday at the latest.”

 _Two days_. “That’s perfect. We should get the Ministry documents by the end of this week as well.”

Kingsley asked the twins, “Do you have enough Polyjuice for the four of us? Nymphadora—”

“Not even _you_ are allowed to call me Nymphadora, Kingsley,” Tonks cut in.

“—won’t need polyjuice, will you?”

Tonks shook her head as Fred — probably, Remus had issues telling them apart, like everyone else — started to speak.

“Well we needed enough for the shop—”

“—so yes, obviously.”

“No need to be snarky.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Both of the twins saluted Kingsley, who rolled his eyes. 

“If we spend tomorrow planning, the guards are most lax on Thursdays, since they go out for drinks on Wednesdays and are generally a bit sleep–deprived.”

“Brilliant.” Remus clapped his hands together. “Fleur and Charlie Weasley are looking into places for muggleborns to hide in mainland Europe, so we should have that sorted by Friday as well.”

“Is that all? Because I’ve got a meeting to go—” Mundungus started to leave his chair, but was pulled back down by Tonks, who grimaced and wiped her hands on her robes afterwards.

“The last thing is we need is a better way to communicate. I think I’ll leave this to Hermione.” Remus stepped backwards, to make room for Hermione at the head of the table.

“Okay, so, when I was in the DA in fifth year — we were a club, of sorts, to learn defensive magic when Umbridge refused to teach us — we used charmed galleons to communicate when our next meeting was. I used the protean charm and connected it to mine, and then I changed the numbers around the edge to correspond to a date and time for the next meeting. If we did something similar, for certain members — so one at Hogwarts, one for each group of people, or so to speak — and added more wards and stuff, we’d have a reliable way to communicate. I thought of journals, but they would run out quickly, if everyone was writing, so I thought of a handheld chalkboard or muggle whiteboard, where there would be a charm so only certain people could see it, and then have dates and communicate in a safer, faster, more reliable method than owls. We could also charm muggle mobile devices to work around magic — they have biometric scanners, and passcodes, but I don’t know how easily everyone would adapt to it.” Everyone’s faces were a mixture of admiration and confusion, and Hermione sighed. “I have some ideas for instant communication, rather than using owls, that wouldn’t be able to be intercepted. I’ll bring some prototypes on Friday.”

“Would you like our help?” One of the twins asked.

“Yeah, actually that would be really helpful. Could I come by, say, tomorrow morning?”

The twins nodded.

“Remy, my boy,” Mundungus started, and Remus sighed internally, “not that I don’t love you an’ all, but d’you know where Dumbledore is? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

There were some nods around the room, and Severus and Remus shared identical faces of shock. Remus grimaced, trying to figure out what to say, but Severus nodded at him — a clear sign to tell the truth. _Well, this is going to go well_.

“Dumbledore died three weeks before the Hogwarts term ended on a mission with Harry Potter. Harry made it out, barely, and isn’t well enough to see people. This is the whole truth. It is devastating, and a huge disadvantage to our cause, but we can’t let it affect us, because there are people out there who need our help.” 

Muttered swears and curses rippled around the room. A couple of people looked as if they were ready to argue, but McGonagall stood before any of them could even open their mouths. “Albus’ death is a tragedy. But he dedicated his life to fighting against evil, and we will continue that fight today, and tomorrow, and every day after that until the fight is won. We cannot let his death weaken us — we must mourn, and forge that sadness into strength, to take down Dolores Umbridge, and the rest of those complete and utter…dicks!”

A hearty cheer echoed around the room, and the kids behind Remus snickered slightly. 

“Okay, so if everyone has their assignments, even if it’s just continue as you are, we can leave for today — meet back here on Friday, yeah?”

Everyone nodded and murmured “yes” before departing. As everyone except Severus, Remus collapsed in his chair.

“Next time — next time, _you’re_ doing that,” Remus said, pointing at Severus, who was barely holding back laughter.

“They won’t listen to me. Come on, let’s get you back to Grimmauld — hopefully Kreacher has made something nice.”

Remus allowed Severus to haul him to his feet, before apparating to Grimmauld, leaving the Burrow empty once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, this is not turning into a Snupin fic, I promise.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!
> 
> TW: character death

It turned out that the people working in the archives were more than happy to provide some hair and take the day off, on the condition that the Order at least _try_ to not get them fired. They were all questioned about their daily routine, and it was decided that Hestia Jones, Bill and Remus would go down in their place. They acquired a hair from Albert Runcorn easily enough, and Severus decided to go as him, having already perfected the haughty sneer Runcorn so often wore. Kingsley and two of his aurors were going as themselves, and were all going to go down — one more person than they’d originally said, but the more people there were in the archives, the quicker they could get out. They hadn’t been able to get a hair from Umbridge, so Tonks was transforming into her — first, she was going to wear a face that would be easily forgotten, and only transform into Umbridge when she had to go into her office. According to Kingsley, she’d be in the department of mysteries all day, holding trial over several muggleborns.

Everyone got in easily enough, and went around their daily jobs. Albert Runcorn was knocked out using the twins’ fainting fancies, and against popular opinion (“obliviate him and send him on a one–way portkey to Argentina”, suggested by Ron, had been most popular by a landslide), would be released back into London after the mission was completed. Snape went to Runcorn’s office and had a snoop around, but didn’t find anything other than a disturbing amount of anti–muggleborn propaganda, and some homosexual erotic magazines. Interesting information, but not useful for the mission.

After that, he went down to the auror office and demanded Kingsley bring some aurors down to the archives, to investigate some ‘funny business’. As they left the office, Kingsley muttered in his ear, “perfect.”

They spent an hour combing through the archives, shrinking any documents that seemed vaguely useful and shoving them into bags. As they finished, an alarm was raised, the ear–splitting sound echoing around the room. 

Over the racket, Kingsley shouted, “has everyone finished their sections?” Everyone nodded. “Alright then, move out!”

“Sir,” Bill said, “can I go see what the racket is about? If Tonks is okay?”

Kingsley sighed. “Alright, but use your portkey at the first sign of trouble. Here, give your bag to Remus, so you can be quicker and have more manoeuvrability.”

Bill nodded and passed his bag to Remus. “See you in a bit.” Then he ran out, as the other six touched their portkeys and disappeared from the room. 

Bill went straight to the lifts, only realising after the doors had closed that there was only one other person in the lift — Percy Weasley.

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Do I tell him about our parents? Do I tell him about what’s going—_

“Nice to see you, Herb. How is the accounting office?” Percy asked, his tone evenly pleasant.

 _Shit_. Panicking, Bill blurted “Same as it always is, Perce,” realising his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Only family calls me Perce. Everyone here calls me Weasley.” _Fuck. FUCK._ “Based on the way you’re fidgeting, you’re either Charlie or Bill — only you two fidget when you’re nervous, everyone else stands unusually still.” Bill immediately stopped fidgeting with the side of his robes, but the damage had been done. “Charlie swore he wouldn’t step foot in the Ministry until they closed the loopholes in the dragon–hunting laws, and he doesn’t go back on his promises, which means you’re Bill.”

They arrived at their floor with a pleasant _ding_ , and Bill winced as he looked at Percy, who was wearing a cold smile. _How could he get out? What would buy him time?_ “Nice to see you, Perce. Did you know, the Dark Lord killed mum and dad, and is now taking over the Ministry?” He felt a twinge in his chest at talking so flippantly about his parents, but it worked — Percy blanched, freezing in place as Bill hurried out of the lift, making a beeline for Umbridge’s office. 

The corridors he walked down were almost oppressive in their cleanliness, shiny wooden furniture and blindingly white walls closing in as he checked plaques for Umbridge’s name. He knew, approximately, where the office was, but if she’d moved…he couldn’t afford to waste time.

He ran headfirst into some aurors, all under the imperius, based upon their sluggish movements and slightly dazed expressions, before they hardened into suspicion.

“What is an archive worker, such as yourself, doing up here on the fourth floor?”

Bill tried his best to paste a bland smile on his face. “I found a discrepancy in a file, and felt it was important enough to bring to the top.”

“Really. We saw Madame Umbridge apprehend someone trying to break into her office not five minutes ago.” _Tonks — is she — she’s a good auror. She’ll be able to fight off the toad easily enough._ “Seems odd that you’d suddenly appear, without a file in sight, apparently going to her office.”

Bill grimaced and drew his wand as the auror who’d been speaking drew her own. He found himself outmatched, the imperius apparently not hindering their ability to fight in the slightest. He managed to defend the hexes easily enough, but knew, as a green spell came flying towards his face, that he wouldn’t be able to counter, nor dodge it, in time.

He closed his eyes and accepted his death — everyone else had gotten out with the files, and while his family had suffered enough losses, all would be well without him — but apparently Percy had other ideas, hurtling around the corner and tackling him to the floor, the green light barely missing their heads.

“Cheers, Perce,” Bill said, slightly dazed, as he watched his brother drive the aurors back.

“The Aurors would never attack a member of the archives. Do you have a way out? That—” he shot a spell that froze them in ice, which immediately started to melt under the temperature regulation charms of the Ministry, “—won’t hold them for long.”

“Yeah, a Portkey — give me your hand.”

Just as the aurors thawed, Bill and Percy disappeared, appearing into the middle of chaos.

* * *

Wearing the face of a middle–aged, white male with salt and pepper hair, Tonks strode into the Ministry, not making eye contact with anyone as she got into the lift.

Breathing a sigh of relief as a couple of aurors left on the third floor, she transformed into Umbridge, transfiguring her plain, grey suit into a pink skirt and jumper, with a long, pink cloak to go with it. Using a little compact mirror with a photo of Umbridge’s face stuck into one side, she checked that her face was perfect, before straightening her shoulders and leaving the lift.

Getting into the office had gone off without a hitch — she’d walked straight in, and no one had said a word. She’d taken several classified files from various draws, and burned some more that they knew about — Dumbledore’s, Hermione’s, and the Weasley’s, to name a few. She’d used a spell to flatten and smooth them, before shoving them under the hideous, pink cloak she was wearing and stepped out. 

Disaster had struck just as she’d turned the last corner, the lift at the other end of the corridor, and Umbridge — the _real_ one — stepped out. Tonks tried to change back into the random man before Umbridge saw her, but Umbridge, apparently, had perfect eyesight, and was making a beeline for her. 

Tonks stuck to the opposite side of the corridor, discreetly clutching her wand and staring straight ahead, but it was of no use. As soon as Umbridge was within striking distance, she sent two hexes flying towards Tonks. She deflected them easily, the files creasing against her abdomen, and thought _fuck it_ , touching the little pin that would take her to the woods. 

To her horror, she felt a hand wrap around her arm and _pull_ — it didn’t take Tonks back to the Ministry, but it did take Umbridge to the woods. Both women fell to the ground in a heap, and the ensuing duel left cracks and craters in the ground, deep gashes marking the surrounding trees. They were surprisingly evenly matched, Umbridge becoming more and more vicious with each spell, but dropping her guard slightly. Tonks waited patiently on the defensive, looking for the opening to stun Umbridge, when a loud _pop_ sounded behind her. She turned on reaction, for a split second, trying to catch a glimpse out of the corner of her eye to see if it was friend or foe, to judge the threat, not seeing the bolt of green light heading towards her back.

* * *

The people who had arrived were Kingsley, Hestia, Remus, and the aurors. They’d arrived just in time for the area to light up with green light, followed by a loud _crack_ as Umbridge apparated away.

They quickly found Tonks’ body; now that she wasn’t using her powers, she was in her natural shape — same colouring as her dad, with dainty, aristocratic features like her mother.

They’d all heard the _crack_ of apparation, but still searched the place, desperate to find Tonks’ killer, to get _vengeance._ To their dismay, they found no one; just a pair of small footsteps that twisted slightly at the end. Bill and Percy arrived to shouting, running, and a body on the ground.

“I _knew_ she shouldn’t have gone alone,” Bill whispered as he knelt beside Tonks. “It was supposed to be an easy stealth mission — we were supposed to just be in and out, no confrontation, nothing like this was supposed to happen—”

“It’s—it’s okay.” Percy said, cautiously approaching Bill, clearly unsure of how to comfort his brother.

“It’s not. It’s not.” Bill stopped shaking his head and sat back on his knees, looking at Percy with bright, determined eyes. “This is why we need to defeat You–Know–Who; to save the muggles and the muggleborns, to thwart his plans. For everyone who died. For mum and dad.”

Percy nodded.

“Bill? Bill! Thank Merlin you’re okay—” Remus appeared, but from the trees, but stopped short at the sight of Percy.

“It’s fine, Remus. He saved my life.”

Remus and Percy nodded at each other. Everyone else emerged quickly, gathering around Tonks’ body.

“We need to tell her parents.” Kingsley said quietly. “And we need to get back. Everyone will be worried.”

The group shared a collective sigh. One of the aurors — Daniel — picked up Tonks, and said, “She got the files, at least. They’re tucked inside her robes.” Everyone felt relieved, but no one felt like celebrating their success. Everyone apparated away, and Bill side–alonged Percy.

They decided the shed they’d placed under the fidelius would be the place to store the documents, so no one outside of the Order could get to them, and left the fully–sized documents in several large, neatly stacked piles, before placing several charms to ensure they would sustain no weather damage. Percy apparated away as soon as he saw the rest of his siblings, mumbling something to Bill about “needing to cover absences in the auror department.” 

Left to answer their questions, Bill told the Weasleys what Percy had done in the Ministry, and everyone begrudgingly decided to welcome Percy back into the family with open arms. They had lost too many already.

A small funeral was held the next day in the back garden of the Burrow, where Tonks’ body was lain in fresh earth. Several people delivered moving eulogies, but no one had really gotten over their grief when they had to get to work.

Hermione presented the knuts that she’d perfected — every member present (except Mundungus, who everyone agreed couldn’t be trusted not to sell it) got one, and they turned silver while remaining the size of a knut under the touch of each person they were keyed to, so that they knew which one to not spend. Since they were so small, Hermione also presented small bands under disillusionment charms that could be resized to be placed anywhere on their arms or legs, with a small pocket to place the knut in. The date would appear on the serial numbers, and then everyone could reply “yes” or “no” to whether or not they were coming, at which point all of the replies were logged in a book in Grimmauld Place. It had been surprisingly difficult magic, but it would do, for now. She and the twins were still working on the notebooks — so far, they had managed a link between two notebooks, but were struggling on adding a third, and making the notebooks bigger on the inside so they wouldn’t run out of pages within three days. They’d agreed that if they didn’t succeed by the end of summer, they’d send one with Ginny, to keep them updated on Hogwarts.

Fleur and most of the Order — everyone who wasn’t inhabiting Grimmauld Place, Shell Cottage, or who’s cover wasn’t blown in the Ministry — were tasked with getting muggleborns out of the country. Safehouses were already set up in northern France, and Charlie was doing further negotiations to get them safe transport to places further from Britain. The muggleborns were instructed not to assume that they were returning anytime soon.

* * *

A week before Ginny was going back to Hogwarts, Harry finally had the strength to leave his floor. It had been slow going, but a spell from Draco showed that his magical core had already tripled in size, and was approximately just below the average size. He found himself pulling on a hoodie before he went downstairs, even as the last dregs of summer continued to heat up the house, to battle the shivers. He was always on the cold side, now, but it was bearable.

“Are you sure you want to actually go to dinner, Potter? I’m not carrying you down the stairs like a bloody princess,” Draco said for the fifth time, watching Harry with narrowed eyes as Harry put on his shoes.

“It’s been an entire week since I last fell asleep in the bath, and I’m feeling way too antsy for the balcony. Anyway, I’ve got a functional magical core—”

“But that wasn’t the only thing wrong with you, you stubborn bastard.”

Harry rolled his eyes and got to his feet, determinedly hiding the slight sway as blood rushed from his head. He was quite sure Draco noticed anyway, but he headed to the door, glaring at Draco, who was standing next to it. “I’m going downstairs.”

“Fine. In any case, I’ll get the pleasure of watching you fall down them.” Draco smirked, opening the door with his hand and pushing it open, before gesturing with his hand. “Go ahead.”

Not seeing any reason to reply, Harry marched out of the room. Getting down the stairs was odd — he hadn’t _forgotten,_ exactly, but it had been at least two months since he’d been down any, and the stairs of Grimmauld were narrow and tall. He managed to get down to the bottom without too many issues. That may have been due to Draco following him closely; despite his jokes Harry felt much safer, since he instinctively knew that if he fell, Draco would levitate him to the bottom. Or at least make the steps soft and bouncy for that extra comedic relief.

He made it down by himself, but at the bottom his legs were trembling slightly from the exertion. 

“Alright, Harry?” Harry’s head snapped to the side at the sound of his first name coming out of Draco’s mouth, but then he realised that they were near the kitchen, and whenever anyone else was around, Draco used his first name.

“Yeah, yeah, stop worrying.”

“I am not _worrying_.” 

Harry scoffed at Draco’s indignant tone, and headed off to the kitchen, sliding into a seat beside Hermione, who was deep in discussion with Ron on her other side. Harry found that he was increasingly tolerant of the ambient magic surrounding Ron and Severus — now, it was more like coarse fabric brushing his skin than needles burying themselves deep inside. “Hi, guys.”

“Harry!” Hermione threw her arms around his shoulders, obscuring his view with her bushy hair. “What are you doing down here?”

“I felt well enough to come down. Also a bit of cabin fever — there’s only so much that happens on the streets of London.”

“Is drunk kebab guy still kicking?” Ron asked from the other side of Hermione.

“He was last night. But also he stumbled into the middle of the road like three times.”

“Poor guy. Really needs to get off the alcohol.”

Harry nodded in agreement, jumping slightly as Draco’s knee knocked against his own under the table as he sat down.

Severus walked into the room a moment later. “Nice to see you, Harry. Shame Remus isn’t here tonight — he hasn’t talked to you in a while, has he? — but he’s checking on the Yorkshire set of muggleborns with Bill tonight.”

Harry felt a pang of disappointment — it had been over a week since he’d seen Remus — before remembering that Severus had mentioned Yorkshire. They’d decided to work from London outwards, since that was where the Ministry was based, and Yorkshire was towards the north of the country — quite a distance from London. “How’s all that going, with the muggleborns? Yorkshire’s quite far from London, isn’t it?”

Severus sat down at the table as Kreacher emerged from the kitchen, levitating several plates filled with a full roast beef dinner behind him. Severus talked as Kreacher put all the plates and cutlery on the table. “It was slow going at first, as we established a system, but now we’re going through a county or two a day. Most of the muggleborns chose to leave, but quite a few wanted to help as well, so our forces have grown, allowing us to get around quicker. However, the Dark Lord has caught onto what we’re doing, so we have to go in a more random pattern — we’ve missed a small ring of counties to get ahead of him, after sending scouts and finding, regrettably, that some towns and villages had been burned to the ground. We could be doing better, but we’re fighting, and saving people every day; and that’s what counts.”

“You should write that down for an Order meeting,” Ron said, waving his fork at Severus, before helping himself to some roast potatoes. “Remus is always looking for inspirational shit like that.”

Severus shook his head, heaping vegetables onto his plate.

“Is that all that’s going on? How’s the research going?” Harry asked.

Hermione sighed. “No luck, and we’ve gone through the most disgusting books in the Black library.”

Harry sagged slightly, taking a bite from his beef, and chewed slowly. How were they supposed to get rid of him, as a horcrux, when no one except Voldemort could kill him?

“So there’s no way to remove it and no way to—” _kill me_ , Harry thought, but judging by Ron and Hermione’s sympathetic looks, they knew what he’d left unsaid.

“We‘ll figure it out. We always do.”

Silence hung around the table, and Harry’s thoughts drifted. To think, he should have been going on the Hogwarts Express, in one week, for his seventh year. As if he could have anything resembling a vaguely normal life.

Seventh year. That was so _old_. The seventh years had always seemed so tall — to think, Cedric was in seventh year when he’d died. He’d seemed so heroic and manly to Harry, as a fourth year. As a seventh year, he certainly didn’t feel heroic and manly. Even if he was—

“Holy shit! I’m of age now, aren’t I?” Harry cut into the silence.

The blood rapidly drained from Ron and Hermione’s faces as they exchanged identical looks of horror.

Hermione looked at Harry with wide, earnest eyes. “We thought you were off with Dumbledore at the time, but then with everything we must have just _forgotten_ , and you haven’t had a proper birthday for your _seventeenth birthday_ , what kind of friends _are_ we—”

“Hermione, Hermione stop. It’s fine, don’t worry. There are more important things on anyway, and I don’t want to make a big deal—”

“But that’s the thing, mate. It _is_ a big deal, a wizard’s seventeenth birthday,” Ron cut in.

“It’s fine. We can celebrate after the war.” _If we survive_.

The grimaces on their faces showed that they had the same thought as Harry. 

Conversation continued to flit around the table, but the mood didn’t improve, to Harry’s dismay. He found himself quickly becoming more and more tired, filled with warm food and surrounded by quiet, if tense, conversation. He excused himself, and Draco, who’d seemed even less at ease than Harry, had followed on his heels. Harry couldn’t even be bothered to tell Draco off when he held Harry’s arm as they went upstairs — even as he felt his face burn at the contact — especially when he tripped and Draco was the only reason he didn’t lose several teeth in the fall. 

Harry was still blushing slightly when he fell asleep.

* * *

Once he heard Potter’s breathing even out, Draco crept down the stairs. Honestly, how could he have forgotten when Potter’s birthday was? Granted, he hadn’t been planning on getting Potter anything, being part of the death eaters and all, but the least he could do, after Har— _Potter_ had such an awful birthday, was bake him a cake. He’d never baked a cake before in his life, but he knew the basics — flour, eggs, sugar — and really, how hard could it be?

His question was soon answered as he spent ten minutes rattling around the kitchen in search of flour. He’d found eggs in the fridge, which had surprised him, and knew that sugar was in a large pot next to the coffee, but where on _Earth_ did people keep the flour?

He was just coming to the terms with the fact that maybe the Black House didn’t have any when he heard footsteps and voices — Ron and Hermione’s — coming down the stairs.

_Brilliant. Just what I need right now; Weasley taking the piss out of my non existent baking skills._

He knew that hiding was futile, so he squared his shoulders and met them head–on.

“—chocolate, but he really liked that Victoria sponge my mum did last year…”

“Ron, Harry likes any — Draco!” Both of them stopped in the doorway, both wearing expressions of blatant shock.

“I take it you two had the same idea as me?” Draco asked, gesturing to the eggs and sugar on the table.

“Apparently so. We might as well work together — make the cake quicker, then we can go back to sleep.” Hermione smiled hopefully, but Ron scowled and muttered something in Hermione’s ear. “Not anymore,” she said out of the corner of her mouth, and Draco’s heart sank. 

He’d hoped that maybe he and Ron could be civil, but it was true that over the course of their school years, they’d done — _Draco_ had done — terrible things. He cringed internally at the sheer number of insults he could remember hurling at Ron and Hermione, mostly for their connection to Harry, making fun of things they couldn’t control — Ron’s family’s wealth, Hermione’s teeth (oh dear Merlin, that _jinx_ — thank god Severus sent her straight to Madame Pomfrey with Crabbe) — and knew that there must have been many more he couldn’t.

 _How could he rectify this?_ He’d never had to rectify a relationship with someone before — not to this extent, in any case. He’d been prepared to do some serious grovelling when he’d gotten back with Harry, but after Hermione’s grateful reception he’d become complacent. He’d never had to fix relationships with anyone in the Slytherin house — they often went crawling back to him, full of apologies—

 _Apologies._ So he had to apologise. That couldn’t be too hard, really. Never mind that he had never apologised in his life, to his recollection.

“It occurs to me that—” Draco took a dry swallow, as Ron and Hermione turned around. Why did silence stares have to be so heavy? “It occurs to me that I haven’t apologised. To either of you. So this is me doing…that.”

After a moment of silence, Ron raised an eyebrow and said, “go on, then.”

Draco refrained from shooting him a venomous look and took a deep breath. “Throughout school, I spent all my time coming up with witty insults, and badges, and songs—”

“Not that witty, really,” Ron muttered, and Hermione elbowed him, before smiling encouragingly at Draco.

“But it was solely because I — I was jealous, of your friendship with Harry. I don’t know if you remember, but — well, in hindsight, it was due to being mean to you, Ron — but Harry rejected me, and it hit hard. I’d never been rejected before, you see, having grown up the little pure–blood Malfoy heir, it shook me to my core, I guess. It doesn’t excuse my actions, but..well, I’ve never admitted that to anyone before, and I thought you guys would appreciate the reason, as shitty as it is. I am sincerely apologising for everything I did at school, and while it certainly can’t cancel out my actions, I hope you can both forgive me, at some point. It is a lot to ask, but…” Draco trailed off, having ran out of words to say. It made him unbearably uncomfortable to be so vulnerable — he hadn’t bared his soul like that to anyone since he came out to his mother — but they deserved it.

Hermione’s smile had grown wider. “Draco, you really didn’t have to do that; bringing Harry back to us was all the apology we needed, and it showed that your allegiances had truly changed. I forgave you a while ago, but the apology was appreciated nonetheless.” Draco inclined his head as Hemione nudged Ron with her elbow.

Rubbing his arm — apparently she’d elbowed harder than Draco had noticed — he sighed and said, “I guess I forgive you too. The apology was very much appreciated though.” He turned around and opened a cupboard, pulling out a bag of flour. _The cupboard._ “So, baking?”

They baked almost entirely in silence, with Ron ordering them around the kitchen. Apparently he’d spent his childhood baking with his mother, and knew what he was doing. The rich chocolate cake, with slightly less icing than Ron had intended — _certainly_ not Draco’s fault, of course — looked amazing.

Draco was absolutely shattered the next morning, having only gotten four hours of sleep, but it was worth it to see Harry’s face light up at the sight of the cake on the dining table, complete with seventeen never–melting candles.


	11. Chapter 11

The meal, while cut short, had really inspired Harry, who decided to take a running leap into ‘normal’ life. The day after the meal, he found a wand from _somewhere_ and joined everyone at their defence lesson, despite Draco’s protests, and proved himself to be a very good dueller, despite the wand not being his own — until his magical core was depleted. His magical core was around the same size as Hermione’s, but he still had the habit of using excessive amounts of magic for spells. He also had the habit of hiding when his magic was being depleted, which meant that Remus didn’t notice anything was wrong until Harry literally collapsed onto the sand.

To Harry’s dismay, after that the main focus of the lessons for him was learning how to do finicky, intricate spells that were about slowly channelling his magic. This resulted in many large explosions, and frustrating moments, but slowly, Harry improved, being able to hold his own in duels for longer periods of time. 

The others had also improved significantly, resulting in Harry being the only person able to successfully beat Draco, if he lasted long enough. Nobody knew how, Harry included; he tended to put it down to luck, but Remus and Draco knew that there was something else behind the way Harry dodged spells that he hadn’t even seen.

After having woken up Draco several nights in a row with various nightmares, Harry had taken to occluding before he slept on instinct. He didn’t exactly _enjoy_ staying in that cold, dark corner of his mind, but if it helped Draco sleep, he’d do it. He’d woken up to Draco having a nightmare a couple of times, but Harry didn’t mind, and in any case, that was different; Draco wasn’t depending on Harry _constantly_ , like Harry was him, or waking Harry up every night. 

Ron and Hermione continued their hunt for any usable information on horcruxes. A once towering pile of books on dark magic dwindled as they tore through the books, looking for a way to remove Harry’s, or a less lethal way to destroy them. So far, for any inanimate objects, the only option they had was to put them on an island and set some fiendfyre on them, but that was dangerous, and the fire, if given enough fuel, could spread over some bodies of water. Basilisk venom would also work, but their only source of _that_ was in the Chamber. The killing curse would work on living things, but not the objects, and even if they _wanted_ to kill Harry — which they didn’t, obviously — they couldn’t, because of that stupid potion. 

A couple of weeks into September, they’d officially run out of books. Surprisingly, it had been Ron that suggested that they tell Draco and Severus — since the apology, Ron had grown increasingly close to Draco, mostly over a chessboard Draco had brought from the Manor. Ron had pointed out that neither of the Slytherins had done anything remotely untrustworthy — in fact, both had done everything in their power to help Harry, above and beyond what the Gryffindors would have asked. And Severus had never been that bad in school, in hindsight.

They’d asked Harry if he was comfortable with them telling Draco and Severus about him being a horcrux, since they really needed some new information, and Harry agreed. Draco had shot concerned glances at Harry throughout the conversation, but had regrettably no new information to offer. Severus, as a potions master, knew a lot about the potion, but had no new information other than what he’d told them that first day. He did go slightly more in-depth with the theory, though, causing Ron’s eyes to quickly glaze over — even if he trusted Snape, he didn’t enjoy potions in the slightest, and would much rather stick to baking — but Hermione frowned at the implications. Since it was old magic, it was void of loopholes; at some point in the fourteenth century, an Italian wizard had brought new magic based on Latin rather than the original Germanic languages that the English lower classes usually used, and everyone had taken them as they came, wanting to be like the french royalty. No one had noticed the loopholes in the more complex spells and potions until the spells were well integrated into society, so they stuck, and the solid, older magic was forgotten. 

Regardless, there was one specific, forgotten loophole in all magic, that “rather liked to screw everything up”, in Severus’ words: True Love. Not a small crush, or most of the forms shown in the stories; pure, unfiltered, romantic love could be harnessed to remove or cancel out most curses placed upon a being. This meant that somebody who truly loved Harry could kill him. But then there was the issue of requiring hatred to use the killing curse.

“There’s more than one spell you can use to kill someone,” Harry had said quietly, determinedly _not_ looking at Draco, who in turn was looking at Harry with a peculiar expression. 

Sadly, neither Severus nor Draco had any immediate suggestions for how to remove the horcrux, since it would require killing Harry, and according to a prophecy, Harry had to kill Voldemort. It seemed like Voldemort had made the perfect situation that surpassed the prophecy entirely. Hermione remained optimistic, maintaining a bright bead of hope in the house, as she marched Ron and Draco into the library. However, she refused to let Harry go in, telling him to “practise his spells.”

Severus spent his free time — not that it was free, really — making potions. The Order was consuming healing potions as quickly as he could make them, and Harry was having whatever was left. Having gotten bored but still confined in the house until further notice, Harry had taken to _pestering_ Severus. He was a good assistant, Severus had to admit — very adept at chopping and dicing — but was _hopeless_ with the theory.

Away from the bustle of Hogwarts, Severus would have expected to feel alone, with long hours in the potions room in the basement, but somehow, he felt less alone than he had in years. Grimmauld was now a family, and Severus couldn’t fight the warm feeling when someone called him upstairs to lunch, as if they _cared_. He couldn’t remember anyone caring about him like that since Lily — he would curse Dumbledore every day for influencing him to make the decision to stop talking to her, to get closer to the death eaters, to be his willing spy. It hadn’t been _entirely_ the old man’s fault — Severus had had terrible choice in friends during his years at Hogwarts — but the idea of actually being able to do something _useful_ for once, after years of being called ‘useless’ by his parents, had certainly been appealing. How Dumbledore had been sorted into Gryffindor, Severus would never know, what with how easily he manipulated people to his side. A small part of him was glad that he was dead — Severus had had enough emotional manipulation for five lifetimes. 

Severus had to say, though, he’d never had a friend like Remus. Sure, Lily had always been there for him, but there had always been a clear division between them; their bond was more fragile than either of them (at least, Severus _hoped_ that Lily wanted to be closer friends), would have liked, and Lily always criticised his friends (with good reason, but it still hurt at the time). His Slytherin ‘friends’ had just been interested in harassing muggle–borns, and the ones that weren’t didn’t really want anything to do with him, having been more interested in either advancing their opportunities in life or hooking up with people. Friends in Slytherin, at least while Severus had been young, had always been about networking; not Severus’ style. 

But Remus…despite all Severus had done in the past, Remus seemed to genuinely _care_ for him. He was mostly the one who made sure that Severus ate, between potions, and tried to strike up conversation — Draco and Hermione tried too, and Harry, once he’d started helping in the basement, but it was different, talking to someone his own age. They really needed another adult in the house while Remus wasn’t there — Severus always forgot to eat, while in the midst of potions making, and genuinely didn’t know if the kids ate while he was down there. Probably not — they had _far_ too much on their minds for seventeen–year–olds; too much to remember little things like eating. 

Although perhaps, Severus noted, Draco made sure Harry ate. He clearly had a _major_ crush on Harry — maybe something more — based on the longing looks when Harry’s head was turned, how he encouraged Harry to eat a few more bites, how his gaze flickered down and back up again, sometimes. Harry was just as bad, and Severus found it _nauseating_.

Still, it could have been a lot worse — he got to do what he loved most, and nobody actively hated him; not even Ron and Ginny, who were quickly warming up to him, even if neither initiated conversations. 

Ginny didn’t mind life in Grimmauld — she often talked to Harry, since Ron, Hermione and Draco were all holed up in the library more often than not. Harry had grumbled multiple times that they refused to let him help, and in turn refused to tell Ginny just _what_ , exactly, they were researching. He occasionally did his exercises, but often ended up throwing the wand that didn’t really work for him across the room in frustration. Ginny tried to console him and say that he was still doing well, and that _anyone_ would have issues with those spells, never mind someone who wasn’t using his own wand, but after a while had given up and just taken to insulting him until he came out of his strop. It roughly had a ninety percent success rate, in any case.

At some point, Harry had somehow got it into his head that he was leading Ginny on and that he needed to apologise, which had resulted in Ginny laughing hysterically because “honestly, Harry, I’m a _lesbian_.” Harry had said that he might be too — gay, that is — and _then_ he’d admitted to maybe, perhaps, having a tiny, little, crush on Draco, but really, there was no reason to make it a big deal because it would probably go away. Ginny had raised an eyebrow before nodding, knowing secretly that it was definitely more than a tiny crush, and honestly those boys had better get together after the war because if she had to put up with their pining for much longer she was likely to put someone’s head through a wall. 

Draco wasn’t the absolute worst, surprisingly. He took her insults with good grace, and was a good loser in duels, which wasn’t often, but he certainly took his losses with more grace than Ron. And the amount that he cared for Harry…certainly, anyone who cared for Harry _that_ much must be okay. 

Everyone had been annoyingly worried about her in the two days leading up to her going to Hogwarts, which wasn’t surprising, but it was extremely irritating. She was stressed enough as it was, and certainly didn’t need everyone walking on eggshells around her. She put up with it, though — she saw how much it helped everyone, if she reassured everyone five times a day that “yes, I’m okay, yes, I’m sure I want to do this, no, I don’t want to send Ron under polyjuice.”

Hermione and the twins had ended up not able to link multiple notebooks, since the current spells they were using weren’t compatible with whatever they were trying to add and there wasn’t time to make new ones, so Ginny had been sent off with a small, black, ring binder notebook, and a muggle pencil, so she could erase what she’d written with the little rubber on the back and reuse the pages.

She’d been anxious as she arrived on the platform with Bill and Fleur, but seeing all the little first years — less than usual, but they were there — strengthened her resolve. They needed someone to protect them, and that’s what she was there for. 

She’d quickly found Neville and Luna, and grabbed a compartment with Seamus and Dean. More than once, the Carrows had came by the compartment — apparently they were patrolling the train — but having not found any reason to punish them, they’d simply regaled them with tales of how they would be tortured when they got to school.

They quickly realised that they wouldn’t be able to have regular meetings with the DA like they did in two years ago, what with two Carrows patrolling the school as well as Umbridge as the head, but agreed to spread the word about the Room of Requirement. As long as the person using it closed the loopholes — making it impenetrable to anyone loyal to Umbridge or You–Know–Who would work — it was an easy place to keep safe. Since the Hufflepuff common room was right next to the kitchens, they could ask the elves to go to the Room to deliver food with only a small chance of being caught by the Carrows.

For the first time, the welcome feast was muffled by an atmosphere heavy with tension. Everyone huddled in small groups, knees touching as they craved some semblance of comfort under the heavy gaze of Umbridge and the Carrows. They ate in silence, shooting sideways glances at the huge gaps at the table. The Sorting Hat had been allowed to sort the kids, but had been threatened with incineration if it dared sing a song. To everyone’s surprise, it obliged, the sorting passing by in record pace as four Gryffindors, three Ravenclaws, two Hufflepuffs and two Slytherins were sorted. 

That night, Ginny received a message from Hermione that new intake and transfers at Beauxbatons were at an all time high. Ginny, in turn, had told Hermione about the gaps at the tables, the meagre handful of first years, and their plans to have the Room of Requirement as their main place of operations. Ginny had noted that, walking up to the Gryffindor dorms, new passages had appeared, betrayed only by how tapestries rippled slightly, and she was willing to bet that they all led to the Room. She’d never heard of the Room reaching out before anyone had even asked, but perhaps the Castle was more intuitive than anyone had thought.

A whispered conversation with the Fat Lady from the otherside of the Gryffindor entrance told her that the portraits knew of many, _many_ new passages, all leading to the seventh floor. She’d agreed to spread the word to the rest of the portraits to let any kids running from someone know about them, and Ginny told all of the Gryffindors, with Neville by her side, about the plan. Most of them would still have to go to lessons, and the teachers would protect them as best as they could, but if too many people skipped defence and muggle studies it would likely result in teachers being fired. However, if they could all spread the word to the other houses, that would be good, because everyone needed to stick together.

Lessons were horrible. Umbridge dropped in on lessons without warning, looking for any way to fire any teacher that wasn’t the Carrows. Nobody had expected her to support You–Know–Who this wholeheartedly, and yet the only teachers she praised were the Carrows. Defence had simply become Dark Arts, and muggle studies was now a study of everything wrong with them. Filch hated Umbridge as much as the student body, after having been dragged into many muggle studies lessons to be treated ‘as muggles should’ and, in an odd twist of fate, had taken to helping students late at night to avoid Umbridge and the Carrows. 

Hagrid had been forced out with Fang by Umbridge within the first week, but Hermione assured Ginny that he’d reached the Burrow, and had gone to Romania to help Charlie with the dragons. As little love as she harboured for the beasts, especially after seeing them in the triwizard tournament, Ginny couldn’t help but think that he’d gotten the better deal.

Ginny suffered her first punishment along with most of her dark arts class, as all of them adamantly refused to practise the cruciatus curse on second years. Ginny later regretted this, as a second year told her that they all had an agreement to scream as loudly as they could, regardless of whether or not the cruciatus was actually being inflicted. She’d just managed to get everyone a sentence of torture, but told the little second year to spread the word around the older years as quickly as possible. 

She’d been marched into the cold, dank dungeons that apparently had cells, and been chained to the wall, along with the rest her classmates, not really knowing what to expect. She’d told them about the second years’ plan, but they weren’t convinced that they could use it here — surely the Carrows would torture them themselves?

They’d been surprised when a few seventh–year Slytherins had been led in by the Carrows, and even more surprised when, after a disgusted glance over her shoulder at Amycus, Pansy Parkinson had whispered “scream” before shouting _“crucio!”_ at the top of her lungs.

They’d all played their parts well, and had only been subjected to two _crucios_ each from the Carrows, rather than the several ‘cast’ on them by the Slytherins. Crabbe seemed to have been genuinely trying his best, but hadn’t been a very good spell caster, fortunately. 

Ginny had not expected to leave those dungeons with only a couple of bruises around her wrist and a silent allegiance with the Slytherins, that much was sure. 

After a week, the Carrows had caught onto their ‘games’ and were ordering the Slytherins to physically beat people in detention. Getting three broken ribs healed in the hospital wing, courtesy of Goyle, Ginny decided that it was time to do… _something_ . With Umbridge in charge, who had said all detentions were to be had with the Carrows, and was constantly assigning them for no reason, there was almost no way to avoid them. Quidditch was cancelled, Hogsmeade trips were cancelled, nobody was learning anything related to the syllabus, as the teachers often spent their time trying to console their students, or teaching them ways to avoid the Carrows and who to go to, and most people skipped at least one meal a day. Everyone had agreed that this was _not_ a school anymore, so they all went into hiding.

First, it had just been those who had it worst — the muggleborns who had still come, for some reason, people with openly anti–muggleborn parents, people who had been in the DA but didn’t have the stomach to tolerate the torture. Neville and Lavender were the main way of corresponding with people in the Room, as they regularly went in and out to check on everyone. Mrs Norris often came to the sixth and seventh year Gryffindors that she’d once ratted out for being out at night when there was someone in the corridor who needed help, and most of the upper year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had been caught by the Carrows as the Ravenclaws and Slytherins ushered younger years through corridors, throwing regretful glances over their shoulders. 

Around October, the younger Slytherins had started turning up to the Room. They hadn’t had it as bad, since the Carrows and Umbridge foolishly believed that everyone in the house supported their views and there were no muggleborns in there, but after they started trying to take punches and punishments for the few students from other houses that remained, while refusing to tell anyone where the others had disappeared to, they were treated as badly as the rest. 

By November, the teachers had either joined them in the room, which had expanded to three times the size of the Great Hall with individual rooms for the year groups, or left to try and get help. As much as they asked for it, the Room couldn’t provide a passage beyond the boundaries of the school, so everyone had to wait it out until the Hogwarts Express arrived at Hogsmeade station. The fifth, sixth and seventh years of all the houses had worked together to get everyone’s belongings out of the dorm, and the elves knew to bring three meals a day to the Room. McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick and Vector taught duelling during the day, and the entire student population were very adept at disillusionment charms.

After writing every day since she’d started back at Hogwarts, Ginny suddenly stopped writing in the notebook in November. Remus only just convinced everyone else to _not_ march off to Hogwarts to see what was going on — he pointed out that she’d probably been forced to destroy the notebook, since the Carrows were trying their best to get into the Room. The last entry had been November 21st, when Ginny said that someone’s cat had gone missing, so she was going out with a large group of seventh years to find it. They’d figured that the six of them would be able to hold their own against the Carrows and Umbridge, but she hadn’t replied since. 

The day after that the death eaters, after having been suspiciously quiet for at least a month, suddenly launched a massive attack on all the neutral magical creatures. They found out via Kingsley’s patronus, as werewolves and banshees flooded the ministry, flanked by death eaters. He’d sent them a list of the names, and after scanning the list four times Remus had abruptly apparated from the kitchen. 

He appeared in the forest that he’d spent an entire year in, learning to accept his werewolf side, frantically following the scent of his pack. _No, they’re not_ my _pack_ , Remus reminded himself — he’d _left_ them. But all rational thoughts left his mind when he caught the scent of dark magic and death. 

He came to in the forest, kneeling in wet dirt, a layer of frost sparkling under the crescent moon. He didn’t know how long he’d knelt there, but, with a massive effort, drew his wand and incinerated the bodies. Perhaps not the best send off, but better than being left to rot. 

He didn’t see the kitchen he apparated into, didn’t feel the towel being wrapped around his shoulders. All he remembered saying was _“dead. They’re all dead.”_

Severus found himself looking after Remus for three days, after dragging him up to a bed. Forcing him to eat and drink. He still wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but finally coaxed out the reason while internally muttering _it is_ so _much effort to have friends._

Apparently his _entire pack_ had been murdered by the death eaters, after they refused to join the Dark Lord. Remus reasoned that it must have had an effect on his wolf side, but Severus was quite sure it was more than that. 

After recovering (not enough, in Severus’ opinion) Remus spent even less time at Grimmauld, overworking himself by going between the Burrow and everywhere else in England. Bill was grateful for the company — since his wife was in Europe most of the time, he’d been getting quite lonely, even with Order members dropping in and out — and was especially grateful for an extra person to help him deal with Mundungus and Mad-Eye.

Moody mostly spent his time making sure Mundungus didn’t fuck everything up, which was a full time job that only someone with Moody’s magical eye could achieve. He also went to Kingsley from time to time, because despite his extremely anti–death eater stance, he hadn’t been put on the wanted list. The most popular theory behind this was all the death eaters were too scared to go after him. 

Kingsley and Moody were the only two full members of the Order remaining in the Ministry. Everyone else had been fired or was in hiding. There were a few neutral aurors that were willing to help for something in exchange — usually time off — which allowed Kingsley to quietly thwart the death eaters efforts to catch muggleborns — when he heard about them. More and more often, they took it upon themselves to scour the country themselves, calling themselves ‘Snatchers’ and reaping the rewards when they brought some helpless unregistered witch or wizard into the Ministry. That was all it took to get arrested these days — if you weren’t on the official registers, you were immediately assumed to be muggleborn and arrested.

Harry had taken to flicking through the notebook that had been connected to Ginny’s, looking for a clue, or who to send a message to. He finally just asked Kreacher to go to the Room of Requirement in Hogwarts and try to find out what happened to Ginny from someone in the room. Kreacher came back a day later, with a letter written in shaky writing, from none other than _Pansy Parkinson_. It turned out that she and Ginny had became fast friends in hiding, and that all six of the people who went out to find the cat hadn’t come back, and couldn’t be found despite the various search parties they’d sent out. However, some of the search parties had reported more masked death eaters on patrol in the corridors — at least two, maybe up to six. Nine death eaters against six students…they would barely have stood a chance. 

Harry was shouting at everyone in the kitchen while wildly waving the letter when an owl flew into the window, which promptly got blown to pieces by Harry’s magic, which had been crackling around the room as he paced. 

The letter was from Ginny, who assured them that she was in hiding with _Narcissa Malfoy_. No sooner had Harry read that out loud than Draco had snatched the letter from Harry’s hands, running the risk of being singed by the magic for any news of his mother. After being assured that she was safe, he sheepishly handed the letter back to Harry, who was looking murderous, if slightly pale after the burst of magic. He almost went to Malfoy Manor to check that Ginny wasn’t still being held there — Ginny could have been forced to write the letter like he had — but Draco pointed out that there was no way that Ginny could know about the safehouse and its location unless she was actually there. They quickly fired off letters to the rest of the Weasleys, who hadn’t been in Grimmauld but who’s letters had been full of anxiety and questions, updating them of events. Harry asked Kreacher to take the letter to Hogwarts, so everyone there wouldn’t need to worry.

Just as the last letter was sent off, Harry swore loudly, clutching his forehead. He saw the world pitch to the side before he was in Voldemort’s head.

* * *

Somewhat detached from everything, Harry’s first thought was “it’s been a while since I was in here.” His forehead was in _immense_ pain, but he ignored it in favour of listening to the thoughts racing through Voldemort’s head as he threw bright green curses left and right in fury. Harry assumed this was the aftermath of Narcissa leaving with Ginny, and the rest of the people who Voldemort had probably locked in the dungeons. He was panicking about _everything_ , because this was the second person from his inner circle who had left. Behind the shield of instability, Harry heard the word _horcrux_ and grasped onto it with two hands, digging his fingers in — how did he have fingers here? — so as to not get whipped away by the furiously swirling thoughts.

He didn’t get much before a pair of red eyes were looking at him, rippling around the edges with a hot, burning fire. 

“Potter. I wonder what you’re doing here.”

 _Fuck_. Harry concentrated on his physical body, the cold tiles beneath his hands. “I was just leaving. Bye!”

Harry _pulled_ his mind back to his body, opening his eyes to everyone crowding around him. After noticing that everyone there knew about them, Harry said “I’ve got some clues about the horcruxes. Not much, but…”

“Alright, that’s good mate, but sit up first, alright?” Ron pulled Harry’s arm around his shoulders and heaved him into a chair.

“ _What_ were you doing in Voldemort’s mind?” Hermione asked angrily as soon as she sat down. 

“Well I didn’t get much _choice_ in the matter—”

“Did he see you?” Severus asked.

“Yes, but—”

“Harry, _what the fuck._ ” Draco muttered.

“Do you all want the information or not?”

Everyone nodded reluctantly.

“Okay, so I didn’t get much because I kind of had to run away when he found me, but one was with Bellatrix — probably not still _with_ her, but I think she was the one who hid it. Then Nagini is one—”

“That bloody snake?” Ron was halfway out of his chair, the only thing stopping him from _whatever_ he was going to do being Hermione’s hand on his arm.

“Yes, ‘that bloody snake’. The last one is at Hogwarts, but I’m not sure where.”

“You’re not going to be able to sneak into Hogwarts, mate.”

“I have an invisibility cloak, I’ll be fine.”

Draco’s hand tightened on Harry’s leg. Harry had no recollection of it being placed there in the first place, but wasn’t complaining. “I think what Ron _meant_ to say was that _you’re not sneaking into Hogwarts_.”

“ _Horcruxes,_ Draco, _horcruxes._ ”

“One of _us_ can do it!” 

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Hermione. “We need to plan before we go running off to Hogwarts. And we need a secure way to kill them.”

Harry slumped back in his chair. “Yeah. And we need to actually meet Ginny.”

“To be honest, Harry, she’s probably safer in the safehouse for the time being. It’s under the fidelius, and the area is surrounded by loads of _other_ wards, and since it’s keyed to my mother, f–Lucius can’t get in.” Harry glared at Draco, but sighed and nodded at the point. Harry realised that he’d perhaps been staring at Draco a moment too long when Ron spoke.

“But we’ll see her soon. Before Christmas.”

Draco nodded at Ron, who nodded to himself, relief written across his face. 

Draco jabbed Harry with a long finger that had previously been draped across Harry’s thigh. “And _you_ are going to sleep.”

“But I’m not—” Harry’s protest was cut off by a yawn, after which he scowled that his body seemed to be insistent that Draco always be right.

“Sure ‘you’re not’.”

Harry scowled as Draco dragged him up the stairs and forced him to go to bed. After a few minutes, Harry heard a whispered “goodnight, Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a few things:
> 
> Firstly, I’m not completely happy about this chapter, but I couldn’t really find a way to break up that massive section into smaller portions. 
> 
> Secondly, I have plans to do another fic after this that will have deleted scenes, including a couple from this time skip :)
> 
> Thirdly, I wrote this back at the very start of September and actually haven’t written since. I’ve got exams next week, university applications in October if I get decent predicted grades, more exams in November, and genuinely have no idea when I’m going to be able to write, so there probably won’t be a posting schedule for the last 5 chapters (it genuinely irritates be so much how few hours there are in the day)
> 
> On the bright side, this is the last chapter where I didn’t really know what I was doing. I have a good idea for most of the other chapters, which means when I actually get time to write I should be able to churn out the chapters pretty quickly!
> 
> I hope everyone is doing okay, and a huge thank you for reading this far - I hope you’re enjoying the story <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha! Look who’s back!
> 
> For like, a day.
> 
> Just to post this and reply to the comments I’ve received that I still need to read lmao.
> 
> ANYWAY. It’s been half term for me which means I had time to bang out this chapter, which I have been dying to write for AGES. I hope it was worth the wait :)

“I think we should go to Godric’s Hollow.”

Harry had expected some sort of backlash from his statement; but not as large as the one he received, which was a  _ no!  _ that really didn’t have to be  _ that _ loud.

“Why not?” Harry asked.

“Because the death eaters will be  _ expecting  _ you to go there,” Remus said, rubbing his forehead. They had been sitting around the dining table for a while, debating what to do with the new information. “It isn’t even  _ related _ to the weird vision you had!” 

“Well we’ve already said no to Hogwarts, Nagini is untouchable, and I highly doubt we’ll be able to kidnap  _ Bellatrix _ and get her to tell us where the horcrux she’s got is.”

“So  _ why _ do you want to go to Godric’s Hollow?” Hermione looked like she was one more ‘stupid’ statement away from slamming her head against the table, but Harry, personally, thought he was being very reasonable.

“Well firstly, I’ve been in Voldemort’s head and I didn’t  _ see _ anything about Godric’s Hollow, which means it’s probably safe — well not  _ safe _ , exactly, but safer. Secondly…I don’t know, sentimental value? Maybe being close to where I became a horcrux—” everyone at the table gasped, and Harry rolled his eyes — talking about him being a horcrux had become more taboo than saying Voldemort, in Grimmauld Place, “—will help me connect with the others more…I don’t know! I just have a…feeling.” 

“A feeling.”

“Yes, Severus, a  _ feeling _ .”

Harry and Severus had a brief staring match, which Ron then interrupted. “To be fair, Harry’s feelings have always been quite accurate, all things considered. Maybe he  _ should  _ go—” Ron winced as everyone glared at him, “— _ with _ someone, of course!”

“See! Ron agrees!”

“That’s two against three,” Hermione pointed out.

“Draco?” Harry asked hopefully. Draco turned his head and tilted it slightly, his eyes flicking across Harry’s face. 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it can’t  _ hurt _ , right? You could just apparate away if anything goes wrong.”

“ _ Exactly _ . My magic is much better, it doesn’t even hurt when you all cast at me anymore.” It hurt a  _ little _ , but really, he’s had much worse. It wasn’t anything like that time he had to regrow all the bones in his arm, in any case. 

“Severus? You haven’t actually said your opinion.” Harry grimaced as Severus fixed his dark eyes on him.

After a long while, he sighed. “Only if you take someone with you.”

Harry clapped his hands together. “Brill. So I’ll take Draco—”

“No, Harry, you will take an  _ adult _ ,” Remus cut in.

“ _ Technically _ we’re all adults. And sorry guys, but me and Draco—”

“—Draco and  _ I _ ,” Hermione interrupted.

Harry rolled his eyes and continued, “—are the best at duelling out of all of us.” Hermione and Ron looked outraged, but had to concede the point.

“I could probably beat you both,” Severus said, leaning back slightly, and then glaring at Harry, furious, as his wand flew from his pocket and into Harry’s hand.

“Not with reflexes like that, you couldn’t.” Harry smirked, throwing the wand back across the table.

“You little  _ brat _ ,” Severus muttered.

“Did you just wandlessly, wordlessly summon Severus’ wand?” Draco whispered.

“Yes. So me and Draco,” Harry ignored Hermione’s exasperated mutter, “are going to Godric’s Hollow…when?”

“Why wait? We’re not doing anything tomorrow, right?”

“You’re becoming awfully Gryffindor, Draco.” Hermione smiled.

“You take that  _ back, _ ” Draco snarled — rather half–heartedly, Harry thought.

“She’s not wrong, you know. You’re one of us now.” Harry elbowed Draco’s arm, who was becoming increasingly red.

“So tomorrow. It’s snowing a bit, so we’ll have to make sure our clothes are warm…” 

“You can’t just  _ change the subject _ ,” Harry protested, grinning alongside Ron and Hermione. Severus and Remus were badly hiding smiles of their own as well.

“...and we should probably take the invisibility cloak, and maybe some food? How long do you think we’ll be there?”

Draco continued rambling until everyone finally stopped pestering him, smirking at everyone’s eye–rolls. Everyone agreed that it was too risky to take a large group; it was easier to track large groups teleporting to the same place, even if they took different portkeys, and the Secret was weaker with every person who knew it. Also, under polyjuice, they could look like another muggle couple. It turned out, despite so many wizarding families living there — including the Dumbledores, to Harry’s surprise — it was still mostly inhabited by muggles. 

Ron and Hermione went out to the local Sainsbury’s under a light glamour and obtained some hairs from a couple who, they estimated, were in their early twenties. According to them, the couple were similar to Harry and Draco in height and weight, and the main difference was their colouring — the man Harry would be impersonating was pale, more so than Draco, and had hair as dark as Harry’s, while Draco’s person had dark skin and hair that had been dyed green. Harry hoped the dye would come through on the polyjuice; Draco, less so.

Harry spent that night tossing and turning, eventually just lying on his back and staring at the dark canopy above. He became increasingly aware of his rising temperature, and of Draco sleeping not half a metre away. It was good that this bed was so big — Harry could  _ feel _ the heat radiating off him. In the back of his mind, he could hear Draco’s voice;  _ Can you cool the fuck down, Potter? We need to sleep if we’re to visit your parents’ house tomorrow. _

Merlin — his  _ parents’ house _ . Where he  _ should _ have grown up — if the noseless bitch hadn’t wanted immortality. Really, what was the point of immortality anyway; why live if you had nothing to live for?

_ Enough of that, Potter. Go to sleep. _

Harry rolled his eyes and turned again, facing the window at the opposite end of the room. A thin shaft of moonlight illuminated the polished floorboards, which were still glossy despite having housed people for the better part of four months. Really, Kreacher had been doing a wonderful job.

He closed his eyes, the image of the room still floating in the inky dark. He really did need to sleep — it wouldn’t do to be visiting such an important place on three hours’ sleep.

* * *

Harry stifled his laughter as Draco walked down the staircase sporting bright green hair. Despite wearing an entirely different face, the expression it was twisted into was so  _ Draco  _ Harry couldn’t possibly think of him any other way.

“Nice hair,” Ron spluttered.

“At least  _ mine _ isn’t permanent.”

Ron ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, I managed to get a girlfriend with it — maybe someone will go out with you now that you’ve got such…eye–catching hair.”

Harry snorted as he heard Hermione hiss, “I’m not going out with you for your  _ hair _ , Ronald,” before going back to examining his hands and wrists. His skin was like porcelain, without a single scar marring it. He couldn’t quite decide whether he liked it or not. As much as he hated his scars, at least they showed he’d tried to  _ do _ something. 

“So remember, tap on the pins—”

“And it’ll Portkey us back here. We  _ know _ , you’ve told us at  _ least _ five times, Severus.” Draco rolled his eyes.

“Brat.” 

“Bat.”

Hermione waved her arms as if to cut their conversation — if it could be called as such — in half. “Alright, alright, that’s enough name–calling. You two definitely know where you’re going, yeah?”

“Yes, Hermione.” Harry and Draco chorused.

“Be home before supper, dears!” Ron shouted, as Harry and Draco stepped out of the front door.

Harry felt his eye twitch slightly as Draco took his hand; a significant improvement on his previous flinching. He felt Draco twist, and apparate them to an alleyway just beside a snow–topped church. 

Harry blinked, tensing his muscles to try and get rid of pins and needles tingling across his skin. Apparation remained the most unpleasant method of travel.

“Pretty here, isn’t it?”

Harry barely had the chance to reply before Draco had linked his arm through Harry’s and dragged him out onto the grit–covered path. “We’ve got to act the part,” Draco murmured into Harry’s ear, seeming delighted at the blush Harry could feel burning across his face.

“Do you know where…” Harry couldn’t bring himself to finish his question, but Draco got his gist.

“I’m assuming it’ll be towards there, where the row of houses is.” Draco leaned across Harry to point at a small road that led away from the clearing in front of the church, lined with houses that bore thatched rooves.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Harry hated how small his voice sounded, how the emotions threatened to not let the words pass his lips. He sighed softly as Draco gently untangled their arms, before linking his fingers through Harry’s, his breath clouding in front of his face in the winter air.

Harry could almost relax under his muggle disguise, walking through the square with snow crunching under his feet. His gaze darted around, drinking in every possible detail; the small butcher’s shop with meat hanging from hooks — a florist’s cart being set up, the flowers like bright jewels in the wintery village — a war memorial with countless names carved into its metal surface. What would it have been like to grow up here? To ride a bike down the road, go shopping with his parents in the little corner shop? Would they have bought him sweets, like Vernon and Petunia did for Dudley? 

Harry hastily blinked away the tears blurring his vision, not noticing the transformation of the memorial until he’d opened his eyes for the third time. The small obelisk had disappeared, replaced by a statue of a couple, holding a baby. The woman had long hair and a kind face with delicate features, while the man was a spitting image of Harry. That meant the baby…

“Are you okay?” Draco whispered. Harry took a deep breath, turning his head to look at the church. 

“Do you — do you think they’d be in there?”

“We could go find out, if you want?”

Did he want to go? What if they were there?

What if they weren’t?

Draco squeezed his hand. “We can come back another day, if you want. When this is all over.”

Harry shook his head. “No. We’re here, I should — I  _ want _ to visit them.”

It took a seemingly immense effort, but Harry managed to move one foot towards the graveyard, and then another. The distance to the small, wooden gate was infinite, and yet they crossed it in a matter of seconds. 

Harry reached out a ghostly, pale hand to push open the gate with a small creak, before starting down a winding, stone path. Graves dotted the grass either side of the path — the oldest were next to the gate, with the dates going back to the 1600s, yet were apparently no worse for wear.

Draco wordlessly started looking at the stones on the right, while Harry read the names on the left. He recognised a few surnames — Abbot, and Boot. They were common names, and yet Harry couldn’t help but wonder if they were related to his classmates in any way. His mind kept going, a constant stream of information, as if it could drive away the oppressive silence that hung around the graveyard.

Harry flinched as Draco gasped at his side.

“Is it — is it them?” Harry whispered.

“No, just someone I recognised.” Draco’s voice was as quiet as Harry’s. He felt a flood of relief, and then immediately a wave of guilt.

“From your family?”

“From an old — a  _ very  _ old tale. One mother used to tell me when I was young.”

“Tell it to me?” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s too… _ quiet _ here.”

Draco nodded. “I doubt I could do it as much justice as old Beedle, but I can give it a try.

“Three brothers travelled down a lonely, winding road by twilight. They came across a river — too wide to jump or levitate over, with no bridges to be seen for miles. Being talented wizards, they simply crafted a bridge and crossed it.

“What they didn’t know was, this river was a trap, set by Death. He — well, they, Death doesn’t exactly have a gender — they waited for unwitting souls to drown in the river, before collecting the souls.

“Death was angry that he’d been cheated out of three lovely, ripe souls. But instead of killing them, he went in a different direction. He told them each that they’d won a reward, and could each ask him for anything they wanted..

“The eldest brother asked for an  _ unbeatable wand _ . Bloody Gryffindors. Death crafted him a wand from a nearby tree — an Elder tree — and gave him the wand. The brother, satisfied, passed Death and continued on his way.

“The second brother, still heartbroken over his fiancée dying a month or so ago, asked for a way to bring back the dead. Death picked up a nearby stone from the banks of the river, and said, ‘turn this stone thrice in your hand, and it shall summon the soul you desire.’ The second brother, also satisfied, passed Death and continued on his way. Then, Death turned to the third brother.

“The third brother didn’t trust Death in the slightest. He asked for something that would allow him to go forth from this place without being able to be seen by anyone — especially Death. Death reluctantly handed over his own cloak of invisibility.

“The first brother immediately went to a nearby tavern, and boasted of the power of his fancy new wand. He defeated challenger after challenger, drinking the entire time, and fell asleep in a room upstairs. Some jealous guy slit his throat and stole the wand; and Death took the soul of the first brother for his own.

“The second brother brought his bride–to–be back from the dead. They lived together, for a while, but she was cold, not the same — obviously, since she’d been  _ brought back from the dead _ . Anyway, the second brother was heartbroken, so he killed himself in order to join her. So, Death took the second brother’s soul for his own.

“The third brother — well, Death searched high and low for him, but couldn’t find him. The third brother grew old, hidden under his bloody cloak, and, when he was ready, passed the cloak on to his son. Then he and Death parted this life as equals.”

“Lovely ending, that.” Harry shivered.

“It brings it to a nice conclusion!”

“Is that supposed to be a kids story?”

“I mean, it is found in a book of children’s stories.”

“Wizards are weird.”

“That, we are.” 

Harry chuckled softly as Draco nodded serenely, before stopping dead at a large, marble gravestone. It stood out from the rest of the dark stones, a beacon in the dark graveyard. Upon it, the words were inscribed, as if they’d only been carved yesterday

JAMES POTTER  LILY POTTER 

  
BORN 27 MARCH 1960  BORN 30 JANUARY 1960 

  
DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981  DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981 

_ 'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.' _

Harry fell to his knees in front of the grave, his good humour evaporating. He thought he was ready for this, but he wasn’t. What did he say? Was he supposed to speak?

He took a deep breath as he felt a hand on his shoulder, hot tears tracing paths down his face. He could do this.

“Hi, mum. Dad. I — I’m sorry I didn’t do this earlier. Well, I don’t know if you’ve been watching, but a lot’s been going on down here. I’m trying my best — and I hope it’s good enough, because if it isn’t…”

_ I don’t know what I’ll do. _

The hand on his shoulder gently squeezed. It was exactly what Harry needed; it was a reminder, that Draco was here for him.

“It’ll have to be good enough. I’m not ready to come see you yet, I don’t think. It would be the end of the world if I did. Merlin, that makes me sound egotistical, but — well, there’s the prophecy, and — oh, it’s so screwed up. But I love you.”

Harry stared at the grave for another moment, before wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his jumper and standing. He huffed softly as Draco shot two quick cleaning spells at his knees — Harry hadn’t even noticed they were wet — and blinked back tears as Draco summoned a bouquet of lilies and placed them at the base of the grave.

“You alright?” Draco whispered.

He wasn’t, not really, but he had to be.

“I will be,” Harry whispered back, reaching out and squeezing Draco’s hand.

* * *

The walk to the house was, simply put, freezing.

The cursed British weather had started to release some almost–snow (but more wet) onto them, coating the snowy paths in slush. 

Harry pulled a face and put impervious charms on his shoes and trousers, and an umbrella charm over his and Draco’s heads. It was weird to use his magic so flippantly, especially when it wasn’t fully recovered, but he’d gotten better at not using ridiculous amounts for small spells. Regardless, he still wasn’t up for maintaining a long–lasting warming charm in this weather. Draco, thankfully, shivered and cast a warming charm that filled their bubble, his magic a soft layer against Harry’s skin as the precipitation fell in sheets in front of them.

“Lovely weather we’re having this year, isn’t it, Potter?”

Harry scoffed, pulling his hand from Draco’s grasp and linking their elbows, like Draco had when they’d first arrived. “Wonderful.”

“You can really see why England is such a tourist hotspot.”

“Well the tourists don’t come here, to the  _ North _ , do they?”

“The idiots do.”

Harry shook his head. In the time that they’d walked through the square and started down the small road, the sleet had slowed to a soft snowfall. Feeling the slight strain on his magic, he released the umbrella charm, forgot that he was attached to Draco and attempted to shove his hand in his pockets, pulling Draco into him. 

“What was that? I almost fell!” Draco screeched, his mouth directly next to Harry’s ear.

Harry shrugged. “It was an accident. My hands were cold.”

“I almost fell into the snow!”

“But you didn’t!”

Draco sighed irritably and shoved his hand into Harry’s pocket, his fingers like ice against Harry’s. When Harry looked at him questioningly, he rolled his eyes. 

“My hands were cold, and while this coat is  _ very _ stylish, it doesn’t have a single pocket.”

They walked down the road like that, finally coming to a halt outside of the Potter’s house. Somehow, this was less emotional for Harry; seeing the rubble, the way the roof caved in, was devastating, but he felt somehow detached from the whole experience. He was probably worn out from the graveyard. A sign popped up, pushing overgrown weeds aside in its ascent. It read, in glimmering, gold letters:

_ On this spot, on this night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family. _

Around the words, many people had left words of thanks, the everlasting ink shining brightly over the wood that had dozens of carved initials in it.

“A bit…distasteful, isn’t it, writing on that.” Draco said.

“I don’t know. It’s kind of nice, knowing all these people are out there, that may not  _ care _ , exactly, but that they…stand behind me?”

“Until someone more powerful comes along. You’re not going to  _ go in  _ there, are you?” Draco added, as Harry laid a hand on the gate.

“Not  _ inside, _ but it is  _ my  _ house.”

Draco reached out and grabbed Harry’s shoulder, spinning him around so they were face–to–face under the trellis. Snow dusted Draco’s bright green hair and the long black coat, but Harry could almost see  _ Draco _ beneath the disguise — in his wide eyes, slightly parted lips, expression filled with concern. If he leant in a little more, they’d be touching — kissing.

Perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad. After all, the scene was quite romantic — if you ignored the scene of destruction, it was a nice, quiet village; fluffy snowflakes swirled around them; their breath misted, mingling in the air. A nice place for a first kiss. For the start of something new. 

Harry quickly realised that they were both just  _ standing _ there, staring at each other. He applied a little pressure to the gate, easing it open…

And jumped back from it as an ear–splitting alarm cut through the air. 

He had a fraction of a second to see Draco’s look of horror, before dark figures descended from the air, waving their wands. Harry felt pinpricks across his skin as wards were set in place, and clung onto Draco’s sleeve before pressing the portkey, but the magic in the pin spluttered away under the wards.

“We’re trapped.” Harry muttered, his heart rate rising. He and Draco shared one last look, and Harry released a breath as he saw that Draco was of the same mind as him — raising his wand, ready to fight.

* * *

Draco’s first instinct was to blame the idiot Gryffindor — Harry — for opening the gate and getting them in this mess, but really, it was his own. 

He’d suspected that somewhere around Godric’s Hollow would be trapped; which was why he’d insisted he’d come along, since he had experience with Dark traps; but he’d gotten distracted. He’d almost kissed Harry, under the trellis — which meant he didn’t notice as Harry slowly opened the gate.

And now they were cornered, and drastically outnumbered. Then again, he and Harry were excellent duellers — and could probably fight off the death eaters. As long as the Dark Lord hadn’t sent any of his best.

One look at Harry — who’d turned back into Harry, thanks to those bloody wards — and he knew that they were fighting their way out of this. So he started firing spells.

First, three rapid  _ stupefys _ to the nearest death eaters, who fell under the red light. Harry had disarmed one of the death eaters close to him and obtained another wand, which he held with his left hand and held a steady  _ protego _ with. Draco would have to get him to teach him that later.

But now — bigger problems. He intercepted two spells — one green and one a violent shade of purple — before taking off, trying to draw them away from Harry. Five gave chase, which was good enough, for now — he could circle back and help Harry in a minute once he’d sorted them out.

He fired spells over his shoulder with deadly accuracy — mostly to stun, or to petrify. He’d  _ love _ to do more harm to them, but they took more intent, which he really didn’t have the concentration for. 

Three death eaters went down, then four, but the fifth kept blocking his spells. He was sloppy — his spells kept flying over Draco’s shoulders — but he also didn’t break his stride when Draco sent spells of his own flying at him. It was no use trying to fight this guy on the run — Draco would have to stand his ground. 

He turned into a nearby alleyway, narrow enough that he could easily touch either wall with his hands, and turned to face the fifth death eater. He didn’t give him an inch of breathing room, firing spells as soon as his foot had turned the corner, but the death eater seemed to have similar plans. Draco aimed for his feet, his head, his body, but none of the spells seemed to land, all absorbed by a seemingly impenetrable shield. None of the death eaters spells landed either, but Draco  _ had _ to get back to Harry. Every moment here was one in which Harry could be injured — or worse.

He tried different spells, eventually getting success when he  _ accioed _ the cloak, whipping the dark hood off to reveal long, blond hair, and a man with an insane look in his eye.

Draco stopped, only just keeping grip of his wand. 

His father — Lucius — grinnes nastily, stalking down the alley with the air of a predator who knew they’d won. 

“You — you—” Draco stammered, not sure what he was going to say.

“ _ I _ . I am the last loyal Malfoy, having been betrayed by my kin. But now — now I will get my revenge.” Lucius grinned, revealing yellowing teeth, two of which had large chips in them. Now that he was closer, Draco could see that his hair was stringy, matted in places, and dark shadows appeared to be carved under his eyes. Apparently, being abandoned by his family and being Voldemort’s plaything didn’t suit anyone.

“Your revenge, huh? Surely you wouldn’t kill your only son.” A desperate attempt — one that Lucius saw straight through.

“Son? You’re no son of mine. I have no family now — a lone wolf, loyal only to his—”

“Master? Voldemort’s the only one holding your leash. You’re no better than Fenrir.”

Perhaps saying that had been a mistake. “You _ dare _ speak his name?” 

“Of course I dare,  _ Lucius _ . Another thing — I’m gay. You sired a  _ gay traitor _ .”

Lucius bared his teeth, a drop of saliva leaking out of the corner of his mouth. Perhaps Draco’s comparison to Fenrir hadn’t been too far off. Although the werewolf probably had better hygiene.

“I wish I could make you pay, boy. For a long time. But I have more important matters to attend to, and in any case, killing traitors ought to allow me to gain the Dark Lord’s favour, after all these years.”

Draco flinched every time Lucius twitched his wand during his speech, mentally saying his goodbyes. At least he’d managed to buy Harry some time — hopefully the idiot would think to run until he got out of the wards and apparate with what magic he had left. He wished he could have had one more chance to see his mother — to at least tell her he loved her. Malfoys were below such things, of course, but he would have liked the chance. 

Lucius had apparently reached the end of his rant, as he raised his wand, panting. Draco watched, feeling detached from the situation, as a matted piece of hair shifted with each breath — as Lucius slowly opened his mouth, each moment stretching into an eternity, finally saying the words. “ _ Avada— _ ”

Draco winced, shielding his face from Lucius — not that that would do much good against the killing curse — but slowly lowered his arm as the second half of the curse didn’t come. Lucius was sprawled facedown on the floor, either knocked out or dead, and at the end of the alleyway was Narcissa Malfoy.

* * *

Harry thought he’d known fear. Enough of it that he’d generally been desensitised to the idea of his death.

But he’d never quite felt as much fear as he did when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco turn and run away, with five death eaters hot on his heels. 

He knew, objectively, why he’d gone — despite Harry being the better dueller, he and Draco knew that he was less able to face large numbers of enemies, especially since he’d used some magic earlier. 

Still, seeing deadly jets of green light narrowly miss the boy he loved — liked —  _ cared about _ , was terrifying.

He’d registered this in the split second he’d bought as a masked death eater fell, petrified, while two others flailed as bright flames ate at their cloaks.

Harry almost went after Draco, but decided against it — Draco could hold his own, and bringing more death eaters towards him would just worsen his chances. Harry flinched as a spell flew past his shoulder and took a chunk out of a house nearby. Right; muggles. People who couldn’t defend themselves. Harry took a quick look around and spotted an empty muggle park next to a woods. He cast a spell at the ground beneath the few standing death eaters’ feet, causing them to sink into the concrete, and turned, sprinting to the woods. If he could get a large tree behind him, he wouldn't have to worry about people sneaking up on him.

He sprinted across the grassy park, thanking his good luck, as every time he felt the need to turn around to check a spell was flying towards him with just enough time to deflect or dodge them. 

He made it to the woods, weaving between trees, and eventually made his stand in front of a wide oak. He quickly set a few traps between the trees, wincing as the death eaters ran into them and were immediately flung backwards through the air, or were tangled in invisible ropes. It seemed hopeless, though — for every death eater Harry incapacitated, there seemed to be three more running towards them. Sweat trickled down his face, even in the freezing air, his spells becoming weaker as his magic drained, but one thought kept him going, fighting.

_ He wasn’t leaving Draco. _

* * *

“Draco?” Narcissa breathed.

Draco’s eyes widened, not quite believing what he was seeing. His mother had come — she’d saved him, against all odds. How had she found him?

He scrambled to his feet, clearing the distance between them in long strides, until her arms were wrapped around him, and he was breathing in the familiar scent of her jasmine perfume.

“Mother.”

He knew he’d just wanted to say he loved her, but it seemed so much harder now. He pulled back, looking at her face. She looked a little more worn than usual, but otherwise unharmed. He opened his mouth, not sure what to say.

“I know.” She whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

“How did you get here? Find me?”

“We don’t need to talk about that now. Are you the only one here? We should get out while we can.”

“No. Bollocks. Harry—”

“Language. And don’t worry, we’ll find him.”

Draco grabbed her hand and started walking back at a brisk pace, all the way back to the Potter house. It was oddly quiet, the scene almost peaceful, if not for the sight of the Potters’ caved in roof, or the houses with little chunks of wall taken out. But if Harry wasn’t here, and the death eaters weren’t here, then  _ where were they? _

Almost in answer, a feeling in his gut had Draco turning his head to a small muggle park, where red light illuminated the forest behind it. 

“There,” Draco said, already sprinting. Harry was still fighting, but what if he was hurt, overwhelmed,  _ taken _ … 

He barely registered the dew on the grass soaking into his shoes, the small branches whipping his face as he entered the forest. He quickly fired spells at the nearest death eaters from behind, just as Harry shot a spell from each of the wands he was holding.

“Draco!” Harry shouted, his eyes lit up. Draco quickly scanned him; there was a small cut on his forehead, and his shoulders were slightly slumped, but he was otherwise unharmed. A small miracle, considering the number of bodies on the forest floor.

“Are you okay?”

“A little tired, they just kept coming. There’s another one,” Harry added, shooting a spell over Draco’s shoulder. Draco spun around, wand at the ready, just in time to see his mother deflect the spell.

“Harry, stop!” Draco shouted.

“It’s alright, Draco — you’re the only one who can actually see through my glamours.” She flicked her wand, and her features became a little sharper.

“Narcissa! Sorry for—”

“Don’t worry about that, we need to leave, now. I stopped the distress signal, so no more death eaters should come, for now, but we need to leave before they notice.”

Harry nodded. “We shouldn’t be too far from the border of the wards — they’re quite complicated but were put up quickly, so they shouldn’t have a huge radius.”

They all started walking further into the woods. Draco saw Harry cast a wistful look back over his shoulder at the park, and grabbed his hand, so that Harry looked at him. “Later. After the war.”

Harry’s eyes dimmed slightly, but he nodded, his mouth set with determination. Within twenty seconds, Draco felt the wards lift, and immediately grabbed Harry and Narcissa, apparating them back to Grimmauld Place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> Apologies for the formatting of the gravestone, it is 10:30pm and I am very tired. The words on the gravestone and the sign are taken directly from the Deathly Hallows, and the origin of The Tale Of The Three Brothers is from Beedle the Bard (jk, credit to the tale goes to J.K.Rowling who’s transphobic views I do not support in the slightest). I wrote it from memory which is why it’s a bit different.
> 
> I have more mocks so I’m probably not going to release the next chapter(s) until Christmas :( updates will be on my instagram (@huffinglepuff) and you can also message me on my tumblr if you want (also @huffinglepuff) :)
> 
> I feel like I had other stuff to say but I cannot remember lmao, I hope you’re all staying safe and have a lovely rest of 2020!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a *bit* later than I said, because I've been struggling with...stuff. On the bright side, we're back in lockdown because Christmas caused a massive 'rona spike (honestly the amount deaths have increased is actually appalling), which means I may be able to write more! I make no promises, but I'm going to try to write every night and try to get a chapter out each week, and hopefully finish the fic by the end of January :) but again, I make No Promises.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Harry’s knees buckled as he took a step into Grimmauld Place. Draco grabbed him with an arm around his waist, but Harry could feel his muscles tremble slightly — clearly, the fight had taken a lot out of both of them.

“Harry!” Hermione grabbed Harry’s arms and half dragged him to the dining room. “What happened? We didn’t expect you back for at least an hour! And what happened to your clothes, they’re all ripped and you’re _bleeding!_ Harry, _what the damn hell happened?_ ”

“Ah, well, there was a bit of a…” Harry trailed off under Hermione’s stern gaze, but continued as she poked his chest, “trap.”

“A _trap?_ ” Hermione screeched, causing Severus to startle at his seat and Remus to come running out of the kitchen, wand raised.

“Narcissa! What are you doing here?” Severus asked. Narcissa started to respond, but was cut off by Remus.

_“What happened?”_

“Did you not hear Hermione announce it to the entirety of London? A trap!” Draco said, slightly hysterical and still holding Narcissa’s hand, his knuckles white.

Ron stumbled through the door, bracing a hand against the doorway to stop himself from being flung into the dining table. “What’s this about a bloody trap? Tell us what happened!”

Hermione silently _accioed_ a first aid kit and started to tend to Harry’s various cuts, before moving onto Draco and Narcissa, while Draco quickly recounted the story — the trip to the graveyard and the Peverell grave, the house, Harry’s ‘complete and utter _idiocy_ ’ at the house, the wards, the ensuing fight, and Narcissa’s dramatic rescue.

Once the story was finished, Hermione said, the picture of innocence, “You know I don’t like to say ‘I told you so’—”

“Bullshit,” Ron muttered.

“—but I _definitely_ told you so.”

“As did I.” Remus added.

Harry rolled his eyes. “So Mrs. Malfoy—”

Narcissa frowned. “When did I become Mrs. Malfoy? You called me Narcissa before.”

“I — okay, fine, Narcissa, what have you been doing? How were you at Godric’s Hollow?”

“Well, since your grand escape from the manor, the Dark Lord has become more and more unhinged. Not to feed your ego, Severus, but I really do think you were the only thing keeping him sane. He’s constantly putting his followers under the cruciatus—” Draco flinched, and Narcissa’s head snapped to the side. “No, no, don’t worry. He was just doing it to people who spoke to him, and…well, you know how they are with any woman that isn’t Bellatrix. I stay in the shadows — where it’s safest. 

“I wasn’t able to glean any useful information, other than about a week ago, when someone let slip about ‘children in the dungeon’. Well, I’d heard about what they did to you, Harry; but only after you’d left. I would have broken you out sooner if I’d known.” The corners of her mouth quivered, and her eyes shone with unshed tears.

Harry shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“It is not _fine_ —” Draco insisted.

“No, Draco, it is. I was his ‘secret weapon’ — of course he wasn’t going to tell anyone about me. Carry on, Mrs. — Narcissa.”

Narcissa took a deep breath. “Well, I heard that there were more children in the dungeon, and that was the final straw. I grabbed my bag in the middle of the night, grabbed them and ran — though not before setting off a couple of those swamp bombs from the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.” Everyone around the table snorted appreciatively, none louder than Ron.

“That shit is _impossible_ to remove. Old Voldy won’t be using the dungeon anytime soon.” A smile lingered on Ron’s face.

“My hopes exactly. Anyway, I took them to an old Black safehouse — one that I knew Bella didn’t know about, and we’ve all been hiding out there—”

“ _Who’s_ been hiding out there?” Draco asked.

“Ginny, Luna, Dean, Seamus, Hannah, and Millicent. And it’s rude to interrupt, darling.” Draco sighed and slumped in his chair. Narcissa shot a disapproving look at him, before continuing. “We’ve all been hiding out there. That was, until I felt a tug on one of the wards the Dark Lord had set. That was another thing I’d done before I’d left — left undetectable strands of magic on all of his alert systems so I’d know when they were triggered. I apparated to Godric’s hollow just before the wards went down, and spent some time rigging the apparation points. You two would have been completely overwhelmed otherwise.” 

Harry and Draco exchanged a look — they’d barely escaped with their lives with the _reduced_ amount of death eaters.

“Anyway, I should probably get back to the safehouse, so the kids don’t worry.”

“Wait,” Hermione said. “If Ron gives you a piece of paper with the address for Grimmauld, you’ll all be able to stay here. The house is huge, and Kreacher has been really good lately — he’d be able to sort out a few rooms for everyone.”

“Actually, that would be good — all the big safehouses are too far away to get to safely, and have stronger wards that can't be manipulated as easily, so it's been a bit cramped.” 

Ron quickly scribbled down the address on a piece of paper, and handed it to Narcissa, who hurried outside.

Tearful reunions ensued as Ginny saw Harry, Ron, Hermione and Remus, and she even gave Draco a brief hug, Luna quickly following. A rather hearty bro hug — with a great deal of back–slapping — occurred between Harry, Ron, Dean and Seamus, but tears shone on their faces anyway. Hannah and Millicent Bulstrode looked uncomfortable on the sidelines, and started talking to Severus, rather than interrupt the reunions, who in turn looked relieved to have a distraction.

The kids quickly recounted their story; the missing cat had actually been stolen by the Carrows, and they were all ambushed by a large group of death eaters. They’d been knocked out and regained consciousness in the dungeons, before being lightly tortured for information.

( _“Lightly tortured?” Ron shouted._

 _Ginny shrugged. “Hogwarts was a lot worse.”_ )

Anyway, it didn’t really matter, Hannah had interrupted, as the siblings looked ready to turn the dining room into a battleground; Narcissa had come into the dungeons on their fourth night there and taken them out of a secret passageway. No one found out until the next day.

(“You and Severus should take hints. She’s good,” Harry murmured to Draco, wincing as a sharp elbow dug into his side.)

Since then, they’d all been hiding out at an old Black safehouse a few miles from Malfoy Manor, deep in a forest. No one had come knocking, so they’d figured this one, at least, was probably safe for the time being.

“And we’ve all been sending people off to Europe, when we’ve had some perfectly good safehouses right here in England,” Ron grumbled.

“Only Harry and I could get into them, or even find them, since they’re keyed to the Head of the family or anyone born directly into the line. Not to mention, we aren’t exactly sure which ones Bellatrix knows about,” Narcissa pointed out.

Ron grimaced, and an awkward silence hung around the table. Hermione broke it after a moment, saying, “Kreacher, could you show our guests to their rooms?”

Kreacher appeared with a _snap_ , and bowed low. “Of course, Miss Granger. If you’d follow Kreacher, Sirs and Mis — Miss Cissy!”

Narcissa inclined her head. “Hello, Kreacher. It is nice to see you in good spirits.”

“Certainly, Miss — Master and his friends have been very kind to Kreacher, Miss.” His round eyes looked larger than ever at the sight of _two_ pure–blooded Blacks in the house. After a while, he finally gathered himself and snapped his fingers, causing everyone’s luggage to float in the air. “Everyone will be following Kreacher to their rooms, now.”

“Kreacher, I’m going to stay here for a few more minutes, if you don’t mind. I need to discuss some things.”

“Of course, Miss Cissy. Just call for Kreacher when you is needing to, Miss.”

After the footsteps of everyone had gone up the stairs, Narcissa sat at the table. Before she could say anything, Harry jumped in.

“Narcissa, we need something. We don’t know what it is, but Bellatrix has it, somewhere. We think.”

Naricissa raised an eyebrow. “Well, have you checked the bank ledgers?”

“The _what_?” Hermione squeaked.

“The bank ledgers. They’re on the fourth floor — hidden, of course, but not very well. They have records of everything in the Black vaults and, somehow, every family we’ve married into. So all the pureblood accounts, basically. If Bellatrix has something in one of her accounts, you’ll be able to see there.”

“Can you take us now? I know it's late, but we don't have much time to lose.”

“Yes, of course.”

Narcissa exited the room in a swirl of silk robes, leaving everyone scrambling to keep up. She quickly ascended the stairs, eventually coming to a stop at an old portrait of a simple landscape. It was masterfully done — light from nearby torches flickered, making it look as if the water was moving, but it was just that; a trick of the light. Which meant—

“A muggle painting.” Draco breathed.

“Yes, dear. The magic of the room cannot be interfered with at all, meaning even making the painting move like a wizarding painting would have rendered it useless. It stands out like a sore thumb, but I guess no one’s discovered it until now.” Narcissa moved her wand in an intricate pattern, and the wall rippled, as if it was made of satin. Then, she simply _stepped_ into the wall. 

Everyone exchanged glances, before Harry shrugged and followed her. The room was small and circular, with a wall pattern that, at closer glance, was loads of drawers, each with a family name and year. All the wood dark, with the carpet and ceiling a light beige. There was little decoration, likely because of the magic. It kind of reminded him of Ollivanders shop.

“Those ones over there are the Lestrange vaults, and these ones are the Black ones. If we work together, it would only take a few hours.”

“ _Hours?_ ” Ron and Draco both whined.

“We might find another horcrux!” Harry muttered under his breath.

They sighed and each grabbed a stack of documents. Harry grabbed another, as did Narcissa, Remus and Severus.

“Do you have _any_ idea what we’re looking for?” Narcissa asked.

“Probably something to do with one of Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw or Godric Gryffindor. It’s likely that it’s a small cup, but that could be in Hogwarts as well, we’re not sure. It could also be to do with the Gaunt family.”

“Should we be looking in their vaults as well, then?” Hermione asked.

“No — I definitely saw Bellatrix in the vision. We’ll consider that a last resort.”

Everyone got their heads down, the room lit by a ball of light hovering in the centre of the room. Minuted passed, then hours, the silence only interrupted by the rustling of paper and long sighs, often followed by a bout of coughing as they inhaled too much dust.

Just as Harry was about to doze off, his eyes slowly closing, something caught his eye. He blinked. And blinked again.

“Guys.” He started rapidly patting Ron on the arm, who was shamelessly sleeping with his head on the desk. “Guys. I think I’ve found it.”

“Don’t be screwing with me, Potter. Don’t get my hopes up, for a nice warm bed, and dash them because you can’t read.” Draco said.

“Well look at this. I’ve seen it before, as well — Dumbledore showed me.”

For there, under _‘set of eighty 24–carat gold plates’_ , was written _‘Golden Cup, once belonging to Helga of House Hufflepuff’._

“Thank god. I’m off to bed,” Ron yawned. Draco grumbled something like an agreement under his breath, following.

“See you tomorrow to make a plan?” Harry said.

Everyone nodded, and disappeared to their bedrooms. 

* * *

A plan was quickly formulated around the now heavily crowded dining table of how to break into Gringotts, the one place in the world it was supposed to be impossible to break into. Other than Hogwarts, Harry remembered — but then again, he would probably be breaking into the castle soon as well.

It had been agreed that Narcissa was going — being the sister of Bellatrix, her magic was likely similar enough to pass any tests. Severus was also going, as he outright refused to let the ‘kids’ to get all the glory, and he was an excellent dueller. After more debates, Millicent Bullstrode was decided to be the third — her mother used to work at Gringotts, and Millicent went there from time to time, so she had extra knowledge of the layout of the bank.

“They’ll likely take you through the Thief's Downfall, so you have to do some of the disguise the muggle way.” Millicent said. “The lighting at the bottom is _awful_ , but they’ll be able to see your hair, so maybe dye it?”

“Or you could just get a wig,” Dean said. “They do these big, black ones to go with costumes and stuff.”

“Not to mention, a perm would deflate immediately under the water unless you waited a couple of days.” Seamus added, earning a couple of weird looks.

“Well, we need to go as soon as possible, else they might move it.” Hermione pointed out.

Later that day, Hermione and Dean went out into London, coming back with an uncannily accurate, black wig. Kreacher brought down a set of Bellatrix’s clothes — her taste hadn’t changed much, thankfully — and with a bit of altering, Narcissa was dressed up, with her own face, but everything else resembling Bellatrix. Harry took one look at her, and his face immediately drained of colour. Draco found him throwing up in an upstairs toilet.

“Harry — Harry, what’s wrong?” Draco murmured softly, rubbing small circles into Harry’s back. Harry retched again, before sitting back, violently shivering.

“I just — seeing her — looked like Bellatr—” Harry’s head disappeared back in the toilet.

Draco hissed through his teeth — he hadn’t even _thought_ of what seeing his torturer would do to Harry.

“Do you want to stay upstairs? I think she’s leaving in a few minutes.”

Harry nodded shakily, and tried to stand, but his legs immediately gave way beneath him. He would have knocked his teeth out on the porcelain rim of the toilet if Draco hadn’t caught him. Draco vanished the mess in the toilet before pulling Harry’s arm around his shoulders and taking him to their room. 

“Come on Harry…just a little further…” Draco coaxed, tucking Harry into their bed.

“You called me Harry.” 

Draco heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes, but didn’t deny it. He just sat on the bed, occasionally stroking Harry’s hair.

After making sure that Harry was asleep, Draco went back downstairs, to see Hermione magically altering Narcissa and Severus’ features. Narcissa looked exactly like Bellatrix, although with a softer expression than Draco was used to — but the sight of his Aunt still made him shudder. Severus’ hair had been shortened, and his nose was now upturned and dainty. A couple more flicks of Hermione’s wand removed his wrinkles, and it was surprising how just three changes could change a person so much. Severus would be unrecognisable, were it not for his robes. A quick flick of Hermione’s wand had them fitted and a deep purple, after Draco pointed out how distinctive they were. Severus glared at Draco, but accepted the changes.

“So remember, you’re looking for a cup about this big,” Hermione held her hands fifteen centimetres apart, “that has a badger on front.”

“Yes, yes, Helga Hufflepuff’s cup. We’ll be fine,” Severus said.

Draco felt a huge wave of emotion — he’d literally _just_ got his mother back, and now she was _leaving?_ — and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her neck, which still smelled of her and not that awful rose scented perfume Bellatrix always wore. “Make sure you stay safe. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“Of course, darling,” she said, running a hand down his back.

“Now, the lunch break is in fifteen minutes, which is the best time to go in. Are you all ready?” Millie asked. Narcissa and Severus nodded, and they all went outside to apparate to Diagon Alley.

Draco went back upstairs, and sat on his bed. Harry was fast asleep. Draco gently removed his glasses, his heart aching slightly. He’d been so close to losing him…and hadn’t even had the chance to tell him how he felt.

That was a conversation for after, though. They had to make it.

* * *

When the three Slytherins walked into Gringotts, the long hall was almost empty. Apparently, they still operated by the same schedule, despite the Ministry’s new rules under Voldemort’s rule. 

They got down to the vault without a hitch — while Narcissa didn’t have Bellatrix’s wand, the spell she cast matched their records well enough, and the light underground was so pathetic that no one saw the slight lengthening of Severus’ hair, nor the change in Narcissa’s features.

They knocked out the goblins, and quickly passed the dragon with the clankers. Thanks to Millicent’s knowledge of how the vaults were protected, they didn’t set off the gemino curse, and quickly grabbed the goblet.

“How the _hell_ do we get out?” Severus murmured, and Millicent winced — she hadn’t thought that far.

“I’d say one of the secret passages, but I don’t know how they’d react to wizard magic. I could probably get through them, but we’d need a big distraction.”

As if they were of one mind, all three of their heads turned to the corridor that led to the dragon.

“Do you think it could break through the rock?” Narcissa murmured.

“It’s a _dragon_. A bit of rock won’t stop it,” Severus replied, already moving. Millicent started murmuring quiet spells at a section of wall while he quickly blasted the chains holding it to the floor, before using the clankers to corral it upwards. The dragon quickly realised it was free, and climbed up the wall with more agility than one would have expected of an animal that big.

Millicent flinched as rocks fell down, blocking the way they’d came in.

“This had better be a _really_ good passage,” Severus muttered, just as Millicent grinned and stepped aside to reveal a roughly hewn staircase.

“Right this way.”

By the time anyone realised which vault had been broken into, the three thieves were long gone.

* * *

Quickly realising that it was almost impossible to have a private conversation in such a crowded house, Narcissa was sent to get a system of safehouses set up with Millicent, Seamus, Dean and Luna. After a lot of arguing, it was determined that Ginny could stay, but first she had to go and visit the rest of her brothers.

Just before she left, Harry pulled Luna aside.

“Hey Luna, could I talk to you about something?”

“Of course you can, Harry. Isn’t this house fascinating? There are so many different breeds of Nargles inhabiting the walls — likely due to the age of the furniture…”

“Yeah, that’s great. If you want, once all this is over, you can spend some time documenting them, or something.”

“That would be great, Harry! I suspect that isn’t what you wanted to talk about, though?”

“As interesting as it is, no. There is something, probably belonging to Rowena Ravenclaw, that we have to find. It would be small, easily concealable, and not very well known. Do you have any idea of what it could be?”

“Well, the only thing that comes to mind is the Lost Diadem.”

“Brilliant! What is that?”

“The Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw?” Luna raised an eyebrow, and Harry shook his head. “Well, it’s like a small tiara that would bestow the wearer increased knowledge and wisdom — or so the legend says. It’s actually pretty famous, but it’s also been lost for centuries.”

Harry’s heart plummeted. _“Centuries?”_

Luna nodded. “Centuries. But if you could talk to someone who’s been around for centuries…” Luna stared at Harry, clearly waiting for him to put the pieces together. Harry, however, was not getting it.

“What are you getting at, Luna?”

“You’ll have to talk to someone who’s dead.”

“So...one of the ghosts at Hogwarts?”

“Yes.”

Harry sighed. Well, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t already thought about. But he definitely had to get into Hogwarts.

“Thanks for your help!”

“Anytime, Harry. And afterwards, I will be taking you up on your offer.”

Harry snorted softly and nodded.

* * *

Once everyone was out, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Draco, Remus and Severus sat around the dining table. 

“So you talked to Luna, and now you want to go to Hogwarts.” Hermione stated flatly. 

“Yes.” Harry replied.

“Do you _remember_ what happened in Godric’s Hollow?” Draco stared at Harry with wide eyes.

“Obviously — it happened a week ago. My memory isn’t _that_ terrible.”

“It’ll be trapped!” Ron said.

“Well they can’t trap _everything_ , otherwise no one would be able to get in or out.”

“No one _goes_ in or out.” Hermione pointed out.

“There are passages! I could go in through the shrieking shack — you guys still have the map, right?”

“And how are you going to get past the Whomping Willow?” Remus asked. “If it attacks you, it’ll be pretty noticeable.”

“I just have to press that knot, right?”

“This seems like an awful lot of effort just to talk to a ghost,” Severus said.

“The ghost might have information about the location of a horcrux!” Harry said.

“Exactly, Harry — they _might_ have information. What if they don’t?” Remus asked.

“We’ll wing it!”

“People don’t get through life by ‘winging it’,” Draco pointed out. Harry might have laughed at his posh interpretation of air–quotes had the discussion not been so serious.

“That’s all life is! Since when do plans actually…y’know, _go to plan?_ ”

“Your range of vocabulary is limitless.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. Even now, Draco refused to actually lose an argument.

“How about we sleep on it? We’re all tired and we’ve been at it for ages.” Ron said.

“I’m not tired!” Harry and Draco shouted.

“Sure you’re not. Come on, youngsters, off to bed with you all.” Remus stood and shooed them out of the room.

Back in their room, Harry turned to Draco. “ _Why_ are you so opposed to going to Hogwarts? You were all for Godric’s Hollow!”

“And that resulted in us almost _dying_ , Harry. I can’t—”

“You can’t _what_ , Draco? Be brave more than once?” Draco flinched, and Harry sighed, his anger dissipating. “I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s okay. I just — I can’t _stand_ the thought of losing you.” Draco said, his voice quiet.

 _Shit,_ Harry thought. How did he proceed? Should he hug Draco? Should he break the tension with a shitty joke?

“I don’t _want_ to die. It’s just — this is bigger than me. Than any of us.”

“I know that, but…why can’t we let the world burn? Why does it depend on _us_? We’re just a couple of kids.”

 _That’s it._ Harry covered the space between them in a few short strides and wrapped his arms around Draco. “I don’t know. Prophecies are shit.” Draco laughed softly, the vibrations rippling against Harry’s cheek. It was easy for him to forget just how much taller Draco was than him.

“Don’t go saying that to Trelawney. She might throw one of her crystal balls at your head, then you’d be stuck with another scar.”

* * *

They had the cup.

Voldemort had meant to take it out, he really did, but what with Severus leaving, then Narcissa breaking out the kids and ruining the trap at Godric’s Hollow, he’d really had a lot going on. Not to mention, Alecto and Amycus were completely _useless_ — sending letters every other day about how there were no students, everyone was hidden, and the rest of it. And of course, he couldn’t entrust Hogwarts to any of his other followers; they’d probably leave him too.

Perhaps _he_ should be Headmaster. It had been his ambition, once.

He snorted softly, pacing in his room. The ambition of a young boy. He’d take Britain, and Ireland, and then expand to the rest of the world. There were millions of muggles here; and muggle minds were weak. Easily manipulated. It would be easy to get them to fight for him.

And in any case, he had the diadem. And Nagini. And even though he was free, the Potter boy couldn’t be killed. Voldemort was still unstoppable, despite the small…hindrances. Hurdles. 

But that’s all they were. Small. Insignificant, in the grand scheme of things. No trouble for Lord Voldemort.

The diadem…it was the least guarded, now. He’d send some more death eaters to patrol the corridors and boundaries tomorrow. And he’d send Bella to reinforce the wards surrounding the castle. No one gets in or out without him knowing.

* * *

_Back in the dungeon? Again?_

_Harry sighed, curling up on himself. He’d visited this place almost every night, the detailing immaculate, as always — the cracks in the stone, the tiny little mouse hole in the corner. The only difference — the only way he knew it was a dream — was the small, barred window. It was too high to even think about escape, but it allowed thin shafts of moonlight._

_It was a full moon tonight; beautiful, but deadly. He wondered where Remus was._

_At the thought of his friend, a set of snapping jaws appeared at the window, saliva dripping onto the stone floor. Harry flinched back, scrambling for the wall — those red eyes were not Remus’, no, they were Fenris, and he wouldn’t hesitate to pull out Harry’s guts. He could see it happening in his mind’s eye; one filthy, long claw splitting him open from sternum to his navel, his skin peeling back to reveal Fenris' very own personal feast._

_For some reason, Harry's back still hadn't hit stone. Harry dared a glance behind, and — yes, there was no wall. Just a very long corridor that absorbed all light, eerie moans echoing down, not even the slightest of breezes._

_A loud creak from the bars on the window had Harry running, sprinting, tripping over his robes as he bolted down the corridor, trying to put as much space between himself and Greyback._

_After what seemed like an hour of running, he finally stopped for a break, leaning against a wall. A_ familiar _wall._

_He turned to see whether or not he was being pursued, but no snarls followed him. No eyes glowed. And ahead…_

_Ahead, was Hogwarts._

_Harry walked down the corridor slowly. It was the lower East corridor; the transfiguration classroom was just ahead. If he went up three flights of stairs, he’d reach the Gryffindor common room._

_Despite it being the middle of the night, the emptiness, the quiet, that usually seemed peaceful, was oppressive, pressing in on him from all sides. Harry knew, instinctively, that if he was to go to the common room, there would be no one there. There would be no one in the dorms. No ghosts, wandering around the halls. The castle was deserted._

_Harry’s footsteps echoed as he wandered down the hallway, taking the route purely by muscle memory. In no time at all, he was on the seventh floor._

_Harry stopped in front of the wall he knew would take him to the Room of Requirement, but footsteps continued to echo off the walls. Harry couldn’t see anyone, but it wouldn’t hurt to hide._

_Harry shut his eyes, walking back and forth three times, and gratefully dove through the door that appeared. The place he was in was familiar; towers of what could only be described as junk towered, thin, winding paths leading into an intricate maze. Harry took the path directly in front of him, and turned left at the Vanishing cabinet Montague had gotten lost in last year, and finally stopped at the tall cupboard where his old potions book was. The cabinet was exactly how he left it, with the bust, the wig and the tiara._

_Or…the diadem._

_“No way,” Harry breathed, grabbing the diadem and holding it in his hands. The image of the diadem slowly sharpened in his mind, as if the memory was being pulled from somewhere else._ Someone _else._

_But inscribed on the diadem, plain as day, were the words:_

_‘Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.”_

_Well, at least he didn’t have to find the Grey Lady now._

* * *

Harry jolted awake and immediately ran around the house. It was six in the morning, and no one appreciated being woken up, but they quickly straightened at Harry’s news.

Another debate at breakfast — prepared by Remus, which irritated Kreacher _greatly_ , and resulted in him making passive–aggressive tea for everyone — took three hours, as they argued over who was going to go. Harry eventually won, but this time insisted that he go into the castle alone, since they didn’t know what wards were up around Hogwarts.

They went to the Burrow and asked Ginny, who said there was no way Harry was getting into Hogwarts. The only way in and out was with someone who had a Dark Mark — apparently they held it up to the wards, which allowed them through. There were death eaters patrolling the corridors, and no one left to help Harry if he got stuck — even Filch said he was leaving for Christmas. And all of the secret passages — _‘yes, even the Honeydukes one’_ — were blocked off.

“Well. Guess I’m storming in.”

“You’re not _storming in,_ Harry!” Hermione cried, exasperated.

“No, no — I can go in through the Forbidden Forest, the natural magic will interfere with the wards. If I’m wearing my invisibility cloak, I am practically undetectable, as long as I stick to the footpaths. And I know exactly where I’m going.”

“He’s not wrong, ‘Mione.” Ron pointed out.

“Well, that doesn’t make him right.”

Harry snuck a glance at Draco, who had been silent throughout the conversation. His face was paler than usual, and completely devoid of any emotion; it broke Harry’s heart. But he’d meant what he’d said last night — this was bigger than both of them. He couldn’t let his feelings get in the way when they were this close.

“I’ll go tomorrow.” 

Draco’s mouth tightened imperceptibly. He made a polite excuse and disappeared; Harry didn’t follow.

* * *

Harry knew it was unrealistic to expect this to go without a hitch, but he’d gotten as far as the fifth floor without being detected and dared to _hope_ that this would go smoothly.

Manipulating the wards in the Forbidden Forest had been ridiculously easy. It was as if the old forest was helping him unravel the dark magic. Getting past the death eaters posted nearby was also easy, since they weren’t paying attention — just complaining about their shitty assignment. 

The atmosphere in Hogwarts was _worse_ than in his dream. At least there, it had been neutral. Here, it felt like the dark magic had seeped into the very bones of the castle.

He’d hurried along, all the way up to the fifth floor. He took a passage through a tapestry that would take him directly to the Room, and slipped inside.

However, just as he touched the diadem — positively _reeking_ of dark magic and evil and Voldemort ( _how_ had he not noticed before) — a reedy voice echoed through the room.

“And who do we have, sneaking through this hidden room?”

A second voice said, “Now, now, Alecto, don’t scare the student. We just want to _talk_ , after all.”

“Oh yes, honey, we just want to talk. Come out, come out!”

Harry slipped the horcrux into his bag and started to creep back from the way he’d come from, but shuffling footsteps were moving towards him.

He backed up, into a stack. It shifted, and then stilled — and then a chair that had been perched precariously on top fell to the floor with a crash.

Harry was already sprinting, but so were the Carrows. Harry blasted the walls of lost objects, trying to cut them off, but they were gaining, and the reckless expense of magic was costing him more than it should. He grabbed onto a table leg and swung himself around a sharp corner, his mind racing; _what do I do, how can I get out_. 

He tried to apparate, but the wards suffocated the final dregs of his magic. Wards — _new_ wards. The old wards hadn’t worked like that. And if they were _new,_ then… 

“Kreacher! Dobby!”

“Tut, tut, tut, boy, practically giving away your position with that racket…”

“Harry Potter called for Dobby and Kreacher?” 

Harry had never been so glad to see the two elves.

“Can you two get me out of here and back to London?”

“Of course, Mr Harry Potter, Sir!” Dobby grabbed his hand and apparated away, back to Grimmauld.

* * *

After Harry quickly recounted his story, Hermione took the diadem from him.

“It seems a shame to destroy it — it _is_ a priceless artifact, after all — but the dark magic is almost… _oily_.” 

“Yep. Do you guys have a plan for getting rid of them? Then it’s just me, Nagini, and him.”

“Well, Hermione can use fiendfyre now,” Ron said proudly.

“ _Barely_.”

“Well we can just go somewhere really far away, destroy them with that, then leave. It’ll be fine!”

“It will not be _fine_ , Ronald, we could _die!_ ”

“You’ll be fine. Kreacher, can you fetch the locket and the cup, please? The evil ones.” Kreacher nodded without even muttering a slur. He really had come far.

“Be back in five!” Ron grinned, before dragging Hermione out and apparating.

They ended up just outside the cave containing the lake where the locket had been stored. Harry had suggested it, weeks ago — it seemed fitting to end the horcruxes where one had been stored. Not to mention, there were no people for miles.

Ron took the bag from Hermione and chucked it into the corner, before holding her hand. “Come on, you’ve got this.”

“What if I haven’t got this, though?”

“I’ll apparate us away.”

She took one deep breath, and then another. _“Vivius ignia.”_

Otters made of fire sprung out of her wand, and engulfed the small bag. Ron thought he heard screaming, and tightened his grip on Hermione’s hand, but didn’t apparate them away.

“Remember, they don’t control you.”

Hermione nodded, a bead of sweat running down her forehead. She kept the fire contained to that one corner for another minute, then two — then she exhaled, and the cave was thrust into darkness once more.

“I’m so proud of you,” Ron whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Wanna go back now?”

She nodded, and Ron apparated them away.

* * *

For a brief moment, Voldemort actually missed being a spirit. 

At least, as a spirit, he couldn’t feel the pain of _three_ horcruxes — _three_ , because those imbeciles at Hogwarts couldn’t stop _one boy_ from sneaking in — being destroyed. It was like being burned from the inside out.

And now someone was going to _pay_.

He apparated to the gates of Hogwarts, dispelling the wards with a flick of his wand. He had little use for them, now.

First, he killed those on border patrol. Then those in the corridors. And once the halls he’d once called home were littered with dead bodies ( _i_ _t was what the castle deserved, for not protecting him,_ ) he found Amycus and Alecto.

Stammering and stuttering, they told the story. How they’d seen a tapestry flapping back and forth, as if someone had gone through it. Slipping through the doors in the wall just before they’d shut. Almost having Potter in their grasp — only to be outsmarted by two _house elves._

He killed them too.

He stormed out, and decided that this was _it_ . He was _done_ dealing with Potter, and his bullshit. It ends here and now.

He cast his voice into the world, using that connection to zero in on Potter’s location.

_“Harry Potter. For too long, you have been a thorn in my side. Yet, Lord Voldemort offers mercy; not to you, but to your friends, your home. Come to Ledgowan Forest tomorrow morning, at nine o’clock — alone — and I will spare the rest. Should you fail to appear, I will destroy everything you know and love; starting with your precious Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, and the Ministry. Then, everything else. Know that this is not a bluff._

_“I will be waiting.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vivius Ignia is taken from Vivus Ignis, which is latin for "Living fire"
> 
> If you've read this far, I'm glad you're enjoying the fic, and hopefully the wait for the next chapter won't be this long :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you guys proud of me? Only one week between these two updates! I'm hoping to keep that up for chapters 15 and 16 :)
> 
> TW for death and some kind of suicidal thoughts.

_ Fuck. _

“Did you guys hear that?” Harry asked.

“Yep.” Remus answered. “‘ _ Come meet me in this forest or I continue doing what I’ve already done _ .’”

Harry sighed. “I’m going to go check on Draco. I haven’t seen him since I left for Hogwarts.”

Remus and Severus exchanged a look, but didn’t say anything as Harry went up to his room. Just before he reached the door, he felt a burning, twisting tug in his gut. Well, at least Ron and Hermione were doing their jobs. He gently knocked on the door, and slowly pushed it open. 

“Draco?”

Draco made a soft sound, turning over to face the door and rubbing his eyes. “Harry?”

“I’m back — without a scratch.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Draco said, even as he ran a critical eye over Harry. He felt an unpleasant twist in his gut when Draco turned back over, dismissing Harry entirely.

“I had Dobby and Kreacher to help me.”

“Hooray for house elves then, I guess.”

Harry took a deep breath in, and out, and sat on the bed. He wasn’t going to rise to Draco’s rather pathetic bait. “Did you hear the announcement?”

“I’m willing to bet all of London heard the bloody announcement. I guess I don’t get to be mad at you if you go, though.” 

“You can be mad.”

“No I _can’t!”_ Draco said, in the first spark of emotion Harry had seen from him. He sat upwards, grey eyes burning. “You _have_ to go to Legdowan Forest otherwise everyone will _die_ , and you can’t leave everyone to _die_ because you’re Harry _fucking_ Potter, saviour of the world, man with a death wish, the Chosen One, and you can’t see how fucking special you are because all you care about is _everyone else!_ ”

“But is that really so bad? I mean…caring about people is good?”

“Yes, Harry. Caring about people is good.” Draco lay his back and stared blankly at the ceiling. “I just think it’s unfair.”

“Well, everyone used to tell me that life isn’t fair. I guess I’ve come to terms with it.” Harry found that he wasn’t lying. He didn’t feel any sort of anger at having to go into another battle, at potentially having to lay his life down. He just felt acceptance.

Draco looked at Harry with a furrowed brow. “I swear to Merlin, Harry, one day we are going to unpack that childhood of yours.”

“We most certainly are  _ not _ . Now, are you coming downstairs or not?”

“I guess so. Ron and Hermione will probably be back soon, right?”

Harry tensed his muscles slightly, testing the still rippling pain. A dull headache was growing at the back of his head as well — but nothing unbearable. “I think the horcruxes are almost destroyed, so I’m going to go with yes. Come on.”

Once they got downstairs, Harry took a proper look at Draco. In the darkness of their room, where the curtains were still drawn, he’d looked normal, but in the light of the hallway Harry could see his eyes were slightly bloodshot, his face paler than usual. 

Harry felt a stabbing pain in his chest — sure, he cared about everyone, but the person he cared about  _ most _ was getting hurt because of it. Harry entertained the idea of leaving, briefly; he could take Draco to Iceland, or New Zealand, or Canada. They could travel the world. But they’d always be looking over their back — and what could they enjoy when the world was in flames?

Harry  _ had _ to go.

Harry shook his head as if that could get rid of the thoughts and followed Draco to the dining room. Ron and Hermione were back, and had grave looks on their faces; Remus and Severus had clearly filled them in.

“Harry, you’re not going  _ alone _ , mate.” Ron said, breaking the heavy silence.

“He said to go alone.”

“Well  _ he’s  _ not going to be alone, so you’re having back up as well.” Hermione said, crossing her arms. Draco nodded, his mouth set in a stubborn frown that looked uncannily similar to Hermione’s.

“As soon as he sees you lot, he’ll apparate away.”

“Do you really think so little of us, Harry? Disillusionment charms. Muffliato. We’ll be fine.”

“You can’t put yourselves in danger—”

“We can and we will.” Draco cut in. “We’re not letting you face that bastard alone.”

“But—”

“No buts. You may be a good dueller, but you can’t stop all of us.”

Harry sighed and slumped back in his chair. “Well, we have until tomorrow, I guess. What do we do?”

Remus leaned forward, hands clasped and resting on the table. “We inform the members of the Order. Get as many people ready to fight as possible. Hopefully, Voldemort’s human forces are rather depleted, since he keeps using the cruciatus on all of them, but he still has werewolves and dementors and Merlin knows what else on his side, so we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

* * *

The members of the Order who could get there gathered at the Burrow a few hours later; almost everyone from the Order meeting they’d had back in September, all of the Weasleys other than Charlie, and a surprisingly high number of Hogwarts recruits. Harry didn’t like the sheer number of people who were literal children in this room, but they were the same age as him — and he knew he wouldn’t appreciate being sidelined. 

There wasn’t really a plan, other than stay back until all hell breaks loose. Fred and George had developed quite the range of protective clothing — along with their range of clothes that had built in shield charms, they had hats that would render the user invisible (inspired from some muggle books, apparently), shoes that would make any steps taken completely silent (Fred introduced them as “sneakers”, which elicited a loud groan from everyone), and extra wands that fired stunning spells, to be wielded in the off hand (those had been developed with the help of Ollivander, who’d offered his expertise to help with any products when Diagon Alley had gone to hell and business had slowed).

Draco watched all of this unfold from what seemed like a million miles away. Harry was sprinting towards his death for the third time in a  _ week _ . And Draco was supposed to sit here and take it. He was supposed to allow Harry to go to some stupid, Scottish forest, where he’d battle Voldemort, and then what? He couldn’t  _ kill _ Voldemort, not without dying and also killing a  _ giant bloody snake _ , and as much as Draco lo–liked him, he was no match for the  _ Dark Lord _ . He should tell Harry how he felt. He should! He might never get a chance again, and everyone says it’s the things you didn’t do that you regret the most. They were leaving in fifteen minutes, which was plenty of time for a confession of love.

Everyone was standing and clapping, now — Remus had probably given another speech. Everyone started moving, and Draco grabbed Harry’s sleeve, dragging him to the corner.

“Hey Draco. Are you okay? You don’t have to go — you know that right?”

“I’m not going to stay here and worry over whether or not you managed to get yourself killed or just severely injured.”

Harry snorted, one corner of his mouth quirked upwards. Draco scanned Harry’s face, mapping it, memorising every detail; the scar on his forehead, that ran through his eyebrow, making a small slit. Draco had always thought he looked rather rakish with that. Scars flecked his cheeks, looking almost like pale freckles. Bright green eyes behind perpetually dirty glasses. Draco raised his wand and cleaned the glasses, smiling softly.

“You need to be able to see, you know.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you.”

“I—”  _ love you. Come on, Draco, just say it already. _

Harry raised his eyebrows. “You…”

“I just wanted to wish you luck.”  _ Coward _ . The voice in his head sounded uncomfortably like Lucius.

Harry grinned and slapped Draco on the shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Luckiest man alive, and all that, right?”

With that, Harry disappeared into the throng of people.

“I hope so,” Draco said softly.

* * *

The trek through the forest took no time at all.

Harry knew he was walking to his death. Well, death would be favourable. But for everyone, he could do this.

Those thoughts didn’t stop his hands from shaking, though. They didn’t stop him from running over that moment with Draco, just before he’d left.

_ I love you,  _ Harry had almost said. Had hoped Draco would say.

_ I just wanted to wish you luck _ , Draco had said. Well, if that’s what he wanted, Harry would respect his wishes.

He crested a hill, and finally saw the cloaked figure, standing in the trees.

“Y’know, Tom, it was helpful of you to provide a specific time. Gives everyone a good idea of how much time they have, and to prepare. And you let me get a good night’s sleep, which was rather considerate.”

“Do you  _ ever _ stop talking,” Voldemort said, turning red eyes on Harry.

“Why would I stop talking? What better past time could I have than to irritate my nemesis?”

“Practising your duelling. Reading. There are plenty of more interesting things to do than talk one’s ear off.”

“Maybe you should take your own advice. I don’t know if you noticed, given how many people have left, but using the cruciatus and killing curse on your followers doesn’t make people like you.”

“I don’t need people to  _ like _ me, I need people to  _ fear _ me. You sound just like Dumbledore.”

“Well, I guess we’ll find out which will win out in the end. I take it you didn’t come alone?”

“Of course not.” Voldemort snorted, and flicked his wand, revealing…wow. Even having killed half of his followers, Voldemort still had loads of people fighting for him. Plus two giants. And that black cloud in the distance was probably dementors. 

“Well, it’s a good job I didn’t either then.”

Harry spun, putting his shield–charm cloak between him and Voldemort while throwing red sparks in the air. His allies — his  _ friends _ — appeared, throwing hats in the air while Fred and George —  _ was that the firework dragon that they set on Umbridge? _

Harry didn’t have a second to look at the chaos, though, as Voldemort was already firing spells at him. Deadly as the spells were, they were also beautiful — vibrant greens that reminded him of the grass at Hogwarts, deep blues that reminded him of the lake, purples so rich in colour Harry didn’t think he’d see anything like it again. 

He blocked again and again, slowly turning their battle around so that every spell Harry dodged took down one of Voldemort’s followers. One of the green spells hit a giant and tangled it in black cords — so Voldemort  _ really _ wasn’t playing to kill. He would probably try to capture Harry and lock him up.

Which meant Harry had to disappear.

Harry changed his path, going back up the hill that he’d come from, looking on the floor for one of those hats. Harry ducked behind tree after tree, wincing as they were consumed by ice and vines and some just exploded under the force of the curses, looking for one of those blasted hats and — yes. Harry rolled under a stunning spell, scooping up the hat, and started leading Voldemort back to the fray. 

He made his way over to the giant that had picked up a tree and was swinging it back and forth, and put all of his strength behind an  _ incendio _ that sent up a huge wall of fire, making a beeline for Voldemort. He ducked behind the giant’s leg and put on the hat, and sprinted to the other end of the battle as fast as he could.

He helped in any way he could — he blocked spells, took down death eater after death eater with every spell he could think of, severed the tendons in the giant’s ankles with a few well–placed  _ diffindos _ to take him down.

The black cloud of dementors started to get uncomfortably close, so Harry dragged up every memory he had with Draco — Godric’s Hollow, the cake he made for Harry’s birthday, talking late at night when the nightmares couldn’t be kept away, and summoned a huge patronus charm to send them away. His patronus didn’t have a shape, anymore; it was just a shield. A very powerful shield, but just that. Harry felt a twinge at losing the last connection he’d had with his dad, but that was something for later. He jumped back into the fray, ducking and weaving through the crowd, not realising he was looking for someone until he spotted the white–blond hair. 

It all happened in slow motion. A death eater cast a killing curse at Draco’s back, and Harry sprinted ahead, jumping in the way, before he could think. The green spell disappeared with a flash of light, Draco took down the death eater, and Harry…Harry was still alive.

Suddenly, several things slotted into place.

_ Only Voldemort could kill him. _

_ True love can overcome any sort of magic. _

_ He loved Draco…and Draco might love him. _

And one thing was very clear: 

_ He  _ had _ to talk to Draco. _

* * *

In some ways, this fight was worse than Godric’s Hollow, in Draco’s opinion. 

There were so many people, now — more allies, sure, but also more enemies. There was nothing he could put to his back,and he had to be constantly aware.  _ Constant vigilance _ , Draco thought with a chuckle. 

That’s all there was room for here. He had Ginny on his right, sending hexes in every direction, and someone from the Order on his left. They provided enough cover for him to temporarily focus on blasting every killing curse out of the air, but eventually they got forced away and Draco had to go back to constantly turning, protecting his back and his front and his sides, just trying to survive. 

In the chaos, he really couldn’t tell who was winning — he hadn’t seen any bodies from his side —  _ yet, _ he reminded himself — but the endless sea of Voldemort’s followers didn’t end. 

A powerful patronus appeared, but Draco didn’t have time to look for the caster. He won duel after duel, and it was never enough. 

He felt a hand at his wrist and flinched, almost attacking before he heard Harry’s voice.

“You need to come with me. Now.”

“Kind of in the middle of something!”

“It may help us win the war. Now put this on.” 

Draco felt one of the invisible hats get pressed into his hand and rolled beneath a spell, uncoiling to his feet with the hat on. He sent a quick stunner at the death eater, and then followed Harry, only visible by the slight rippling of tree trunks as he passed in front of them.

There was a small, abandoned barn, far enough that no one had come near it in the battle, but near enough that they could still hear the sounds of battle.

“Harry, what is this? Have you discovered some secret weapon?”

Harry sighed as he took off his hat. His face was pale, and he had a bloody gash on his arm. “I know how we can get rid of the horcrux in me.”

“How? We did hours of research and didn’t come up with anything—”

“ _ You  _ need to kill me.”

“I can’t kill you! Remember? The potion?”

“You can.” Harry’s mouth was set stubbornly, and Draco knew he wasn’t going to change his mind. “Severus said—” Harry hesitated, “he said true love could overcome it. It’ll work.”

“No.” Draco didn’t even know what he was saying no to — no to killing Harry, no to him truly loving Harry, no to Harry truly loving him. No to this working.

“Draco, you have to. It’s me or the world, you can’t choose—”

_ “You.” _ The word spilled out of Draco’s mouth before he’d even fully formed the thought. “I’d  _ always _ choose you.”

Tears started spilling down Harry’s face. Draco was pretty sure he was crying too.  _ “You can’t.” _ Harry’s voice was barely a whisper.

“I can’t even cast the killing curse! What makes you think I could kill you, the person I—” He’d practically admitted it at this point, but he still couldn’t say the words.

Harry’s eyes flicked down to Draco’s chest, where scars remained from an incident that happened an aeon ago, in a bathroom. “There’s more than one way of killing someone.”

“No.  _ No. _ ” Draco was shaking his head, falling to his knees, hands wrapped around his middle, staring at the grimy floor.

Harry was in front of him, unfolding Draco, lifting his chin and forcing him to look into bright–green eyes. “You have to.”

Harry gently tugged at his hands, getting him to stand. Then he stood two metres away. “The incantation’s sectumsempra.”

As if Draco could have forgotten it. “I can’t—”

_ “You can.  _ I forgive you. _ ” _

Draco’s life started to flash before his eyes, which was idiotic, since he wasn’t the one dying. Except he might as well be.

He was five, and his mother was walking him through the garden.

He was eight, and so excited to get his first wand.

He was eleven, and finally going to meet Harry Potter.

He was thirteen, and his arm was bleeding, and  _ Harry didn’t care _ .

He was fourteen, and making hundreds of buttons for attention from a boy he didn’t care about.

He was fifteen, and his father was being sent to Azkaban.

He was seventeen, and saving Harry Potter.

He was seventeen, and he was falling in love with Harry Potter.

He was seventeen, and he had to kill Harry potter.

“Come on, Draco. Just do it.” Draco looked into Harry’s eyes, searching for something and finding nothing but acceptance.

_ “Sectumsempra.” _

Draco had barely moved his wand, but thick slashes cut Harry open, across his chest and abdomen. He’d never realised just how bad it was, and this was  _ clearly _ a mistake.  _ What had he done? _

“Harry. _H_ __ar_ ry.  _ Come  _ on _ ,  _ wake up _ ,” Draco said frantically, hands covered in blood as he covered the wounds, to keep the blood in, because that was where Harry’s blood was supposed to be, not all over Draco’s hands. “Carnes consuo.  _ Carnes consuo!” _ Thread appeared, and then immediately disappeared, and the wounds remained open, until eventually the pulse under Draco’s hands  _ stopped _ .

“Harry,  _ no _ , you can’t leave me now,” Draco sobbed, banging his fists on Harry’s chest. “Harry, you can’t leave me, not when I love you. _ I love you _ . Harry,  _ wake up. Please.” _

* * *

Harry’s eyes flew open, and he immediately shut them again as a bright light blinded him, leaving his eyes burning. . He cracked them open again, allowing his eyes to adjust before opening them fully. The bright white light was coming from all directions, with nothing to cast a shadow on the ground. 

“Draco?” Harry shouted, jumping to his feet. This…this wasn’t the forest. This didn’t seem to be anywhere at all.

He waved his arms around and was surprised when he felt no pain. Surely dying was  _ more _ than this? He hadn’t quite expected a life after death, but even if he did, he wouldn’t have expected it to be so... _ empty _ .

He felt eyes on the back of his neck, and spun on his heel, almost falling flat on his arse at the ever-twinkling blue eyes that stared at him.

“D—Dumbledore?”

“Not quite. I thought this form would be...preferable for your adjustment.” Indeed, the voice coming out of Dumbledore’s mouth was not his, and very unnerving. Silky soft, it made Harry think of the lure of death—the idea of a calming afterlife, away from the chaos and pain of the world. “If you’re still not sure, maybe this will give you an idea.”

Harry was quite sure of who the Dumbledore–imposter was, but his eyes still widened at the wand that appeared in his right hand, the diamond–shaped, onyx stone in his left, and the familiar cloak that appeared around his shoulder..

“Death.”

Dumbledore —  _ Death _ — bowed. “At your service. Although while we’re here, I thought I might tell you that you weren’t quite using this correctly. It is, after all, a  _ cloak _ .”

Harry raised an eyebrow at Death, who raised their hood and abruptly disappeared. Harry sighed, and they pulled it back down again. 

“Yes, I suppose that makes more sense than just throwing it over us and hoping our feet don’t stick out,” Harry agreed. “Can you—choose a different form? This,” he gestured at Death, “is a bit jarring.”

“Fair enough.” Death continued to speak as their form rippled. “You know, most people are afraid of me. None have dared to speak to me so nonchalantly my first meeting since Ignatius.”

“Well…” Harry shrugged. “I mean I’ve faced the  _ idea _ of death, and…wait, how am I still talking? Is this the afterlife?”

Death stopped rippling, taking the form of a tall, beautiful person, with dark hair that rippled despite there being no breeze — and chuckled, looking at him with bottomless, black eyes. “Of sorts. You, as the Master of Death, can go back to life, despite being hit by the killing curse.”

“Wait,” Harry gestured wildly, “I’m the  _ Master of Death?” _

“Well, yes—”

“But I didn’t even collect all the Hallows! Y’know, from that story?”

Death waved their hand dismissively. “The ramblings of a delusional old man. The Hallows don’t dictate the Master — actually, at a point, Dumbledore had all three — I do.”

“You choose your own Master.”

“That I do. Perks of being Death, and all.”

“And you chose me because…”

“No reason in particular. But I’ve been watching over you your entire life — you know how in duels, you always seem to be able to dodge or block hexes before you see them?” Death grinned, showing off blindingly white teeth.

“You’ve been helping me  _ cheat _ ?”

“A Slytherin would be delighted.”

“Well I’m not a Slytherin, am I?”

Death waved their hand slightly. “You have a lot of the qualities. Anyway,” they added, shushing Harry’s small sound of outrage and frowning as they tilted their head, as if listening to someone. “There’s someone who wants to talk to you, before you go back. You are going back, right?”

Harry rolled his eyes, and Death smirked and stepped backwards, pulling the hood of their cloak over their head and disappearing with a  _ whoosh _ . A familiar figure walked out from behind a pillar — since when were there  _ pillars? _ — and Harry fell to his knees.

* * *

Draco didn’t know how long he sat in the barn, cradling Harry’s dead body. He was only brought out of his vigil at the sound of several people calling his name outside.

He stumbled out of the barn, towards the sound of someone rustling some nearby bushes.

“I’m here,” he said, voice hoarse.

“Thank  _ Merlin _ , Draco, we’ve been —  _ why are you covered in blood?” _ Hermione’s eyes flashed as she finally turned around.

Draco looked down and huffed slightly. “I suppose I am.” There was blood all over him, but that seemed trivial, now. Everything was trivial. What was the point of living, now that Harry was dead?

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Draco!” Ron called from somewhere beyond the trees.

“He’s here!” Hermione replied. “And covered in blood!” She added, slightly hysterical.

“Draco, what the fuck happened?” Ron asked, emerging from the woods.

“I — Harry said — Horcrux — dead.” All Draco knew was he was so sad, and so  _ tired _ .

Ron looked at Hermione. “Did you understand that?”

“No, but it would probably explain why Voldemort disappeared. Draco, what happened to Harry?”

“Dead,” was all Draco could say, warm tears running down his face.

“ _ No _ . He had that potion, and he wouldn’t —  _ you  _ wouldn’t—” Hermione was stammering. Draco didn’t think he’d ever seen her stammer.

Draco nodded numbly.

_ “How?” _ Ron asked.

“True love.” Draco looked at the floor, no longer able to look Harry’s two best friends in the eye. They’d probably hex him right there. They  _ should _ —  _ he’d killed Harry. _ He was not, however, expecting two sets of arms hugging him gently, as if he were a fragile, glass figurine. It felt…nice. A warmth that cut through the numbness.

“Come on. We need to go. Regroup. Mourn.” Ron said, after a long while. “And tell everyone the news.  _ Merlin _ , that’s not gonna be fun.”

Hermione huffed a small laugh. How, Draco didn’t know. “You don’t say.”

* * *

Harry couldn’t believe his eyes In front of him, looking young, and  _ healthy,  _ was — 

“Sirius?” Harry’s voice was small, broken. 

His godfather was standing  _ right in front of him _ . 

Sirius smiled, laugh lines deepening at the corners of his eyes. “Harry.” He pulled him to his feet and wrapped him in a tight hug. “I missed you, pup.”

“I missed you too.” Harry said, tears running down his face. By whatever magic this place had, Sirius felt as real and alive as he had on Earth. Abruptly, Harry pulled back and punched Sirius in the shoulder. 

“What was that for?”

“For falling through that stupid veil. For leaving me and Remus. He’s the last living marauder!” Harry’s throat closed up. “And he’s so  _ sad _ . He tries to hide it, but…he misses you.” 

A tear fell down Sirius’ face. “I know, pup. I’ve been watching.”

“So...you know.”

“More than you think. For one thing, that horcrux of yours is gone, and the potion no longer has an effect on you. You were right.”

Harry sobbed with relief, pressing his hand over his mouth in an attempt to control himself. He felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders — this entire time, a small part of him had worried that somehow, it would have all been for nothing. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he gasped, lurching forward to hug Sirius again.

“Not for long,” Sirius rubbed Harry’s back in soothing circles. “Time runs differently here, you see. It’s been…well, I don’t know how long it’s been on Earth since you died, but it hasn’t been the few minutes you think it has. You need to go back before shit goes down.”

Harry pushed away to look him in the eye. “‘ _ Shit goes down?’ _ ” Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, I’m  _ allowed  _ to swear! You’re of age!”

Harry huffed, before his small smile slid off his face. Here, it was peaceful. He was willing to bet that if he could see Sirius, then he could see his parents, too. But to see them…

To see them, he’d have to leave Draco. He couldn’t do that, not when he had the option to go back. If he really had a chance to see Draco again, he was going to take it.

Sirius studied his face, before nodding approvingly. “They’ll still be here when it’s your time, you know.”

Harry sighed. “I know. It’s just…to have to go back to all  _ that _ …”

Sirius nodded grimly. “It’s no place for a seventeen year old. Hell, no one should have to go through what you’ve been through, never mind go back into it…but you have to.”

Harry sighed deeply, before hugging Sirius. “Will you wait?” He whispered, hating himself for even asking. “Will you wait for me?”

“Of course, pup. Now go save the world, Prongslet. I’ll tell everyone you said ‘hi’. And, could you tell Remus—” Sirius’ voice broke slightly, “—could you tell Remus that I love him?”

“Of course, Padfoot.”

* * *

Voldemort had one horcrux left.

How had it gotten to this point?

He’d hidden them so well, but that Potter — the  _ accidental _ horcrux — had somehow managed to get himself killed. Which meant Nagini was the only horcrux he had. She was on his bed, asleep on his silk sheets. 

Perhaps it was good Dumbledore’s wand had disappeared, Voldemort thought — his first urge when he found it missing was to set everything on fire, and if any harm had come to Nagini…

No matter. 

He tortured Bellatrix for hours.  _ Why _ had she revealed the location of the Goblet?

Even his most loyal follower had betrayed him. 

He’d emptied the manor, sending fiery snakes to chase them over the lawn, before consuming them in a fiery inferno. There was no chance that he was letting anyone with inside information leave. 

He could do this himself, he thought. He’d just have to…change things, a bit. His grip was slipping on the ministry, and he kept having to order people to be fired, or put them up as wanted. But that wasn’t his priority, right now — he needed to wipe out all of Potter’s little friends.

But  _ how? _

Voldemort blasted a hole into the nearest wall, screaming with rage.

* * *

Draco could barely recognise himself in the mirror.

One would think having the person he loves, perhaps most, die in his arms, was the most painful thing in the world. Maybe it was. But a few minutes after they walked into Grimmauld Place, the bond  _ snapped, _ and evaporated. As if it hadn’t ever been there in the first place.

Draco had fallen to the floor, and when finally came to his senses, he just…went to sleep.. He slept for around seventeen hours, but he still had dark shadows under his eyes, and his face had thinned. He looked as if he’d not slept or eaten for a week.

But, well, that was irrelevant now. He looked at his bed — spending the rest of his life there  _ did _ sound nice — but instead, he pulled on fresh clothes and went downstairs. He needed  _ revenge _ .

He could hear the hushed conversation through the door as he approached the kitchen, but it abruptly stopped when he walked in. Everyone turned to look at him, and if Draco had the presence of mind, he would’ve noticed how guilty they looked. 

“What are you all talking about?”

For a moment, no one spoke, as if they were worried how Draco would react if they mentioned Harry. 

“Draco…did you leave Harry’s body in that barn?” Hermione asked gently.

“Yes.” Draco kept his face neutral, his voice monotone. Now wasn’t the time for emotions.

“It’s not there anymore.”

_ “What?” _

“It’s…gone. There are no magical signatures other than yours and Harry’s, but…no body.”

Draco swallowed. “My bond with him is severed as well. It went yesterday.”

Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance. “Well, the reason we wanted to get his body was to have a small funeral in the garden, before we did anything else. Emphasis on  _ small _ ,” Hermione added, as Draco felt his face crumple a little, “literally just us. We can have a proper one later, but…we wanted a chance to say a few words. Closure, and that.”

Draco nodded slowly. That sounded like a good idea, in theory. His emotionless face would not last through a funeral — it didn’t last through this conversation, for Merlin’s sake — but he found that he trusted these Gryffindors, surprisingly enough. They were his family.

“Shall we, then? No reason to put it off.”

“But the body—”

“One of the death eaters probably nicked it. Or some muggles found it. In any case, we don’t — we don’t need it, right now. We need…”

_ We need Harry. _

_ Harry’s not here, _ Draco reminded himself.  _ He’d never be here again. _

Ron nodded. “Come on, let’s go outside.”

Just through the kitchen, there was a set of glass doors that led to a slightly overgrown garden, a few metres wide and longer than the eye could see. There was a small patio that they could stand on.

Draco leant against the wall, then pushed himself off, shifting from one foot to the other. He couldn’t stand here, he wanted to hunt, he wanted to tear Voldemort apart with his own two hands for what had happened. But first, he had to listen.

He tried to listen, in any case. He really did. But first Hermione stood at the front, then Ron, and Severus, and Remus. He saw them walk up, saw their lips move, but all that echoed in his ears was a ringing silence, and three words;  _ ‘I forgive you.’ _ The last words Harry had said to him.

Harry could forgive him all he wanted, but Draco would  _ never _ forgive himself. 

“…co? Draco?”

“Yeah?” Draco’s face was cold where the January wind had cooled down his tears.

“Do you want to say anything?”

Draco took a deep breath and a few steps forward. He could say a few words. He just had to speak.

“Harry is — was… _ infuriating _ , in every way possible. He wound me up, he teased me mercilessly, and everything I threw at him, he threw back at me. He was stubborn, and persistent, and resilient. And it is so hard—” Draco took another deep breath, and closed his eyes. “It is so  _ hard  _ to remember that he’s gone. Despite his infuriating personality — or perhaps because of it — I fell in love with him. And now he’s  _ gone _ , and I will  _ never  _ forgive him for that.”

Draco kept his eyes shut for a moment, breathing deeply, in, and out. He needed to keep it together. He couldn’t break yet.

He slowly opened his eyes, just in time to see someone in the kitchen drop a tea cup, the ceramic shattering against the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to [etymolodrarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etymolodrarry) for writing half of the outline for and editing this chapter! Honestly, she made this chapter what it is :) If you want to read more drarry, click on the link to go to her AO3 account! Honestly, she's got some great stuff on there (my personal favourite is Forty Days, we love a good quarantine fic)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double chapter! (tbf the last one is just a little epilogue)
> 
> TW for violence and character death

Harry woke up to the scent of pine and sunlight streaming through gaps in the trees.

He lay there for a moment, before everything came rushing back. He shot up, mentally bracing himself for pain that didn’t come. He frowned — he’d definitely been hit by quite a few spells, not to mention the _sectumsempra_ that had killed him. The light wasn’t good enough to be able to see any injuries, but he was sure that he was just running off adrenaline, or something.

He stood, brushing pine needles off his clothes, before he realised — he was in _Scotland._ He had to get home. 

He took a deep breath and took out — _this wasn’t his wand_. It was a bit longer, and had odd knots, with runes carved in it towards the bottom.

_The Elder Wand._

Harry frowned at it, before shaking his head; this was something to consider later. He couldn’t apparate home one jump — it was literally at the other end of the island — so he apparated to Edinburgh. 

He winced — he knew that, somehow, that Death had refilled his magic, maybe even given him a top–up of sorts, but he still wasn’t sure if he’d make it — that 150 miles had half–drained his magic, and he remembered from the atlases in the Dursley’s house that he still had a long way to go.

_(Dudley always seemed to get them for his birthday; big, heavy books, filled with knowledge of the world, and perfect for throwing at Harry. The bruises had been worth it — when his old torch still worked, he’d poured over its pages, memorising each detail, in case he ever got the chance to run away. Even when the torch’s batteries had drained, much later than they should have, Harry traced routes in his mind, from city to city.)_

He rallied his magic, making a second jump to the North Pennines, immediately collapsing on the grass as pain rippled through his thigh. A quick glance downward confirmed that he’d splinched himself, but a bit of prodding revealed that it wasn’t very bad. He tore off a chunk of his shirt and tightly wrapped the wound, before setting up a few wards with the last of his magic and collapsing under a tree. Harry was lucky he’d made it here; the Pennines were considered an Area of Natural Beauty, so there were almost no people around.

Harry slept through the rest of the day and the night, and woke up as the sun rose, his magic recharged and roiling beneath his skin. He immediately made several shorter jumps through the Yorkshire Dales, before stopping at Leeds and stealing some food from some muggle market stalls. Not much — a few pieces of fruit, a bread roll. He wandered around the city, pretending to be a tourist, while his mind worried about Draco; he didn’t even know who’d made it out of the forest. There hadn’t been any dead bodies that he’d seen, but that didn’t really mean anything; he did leave almost as soon as he woke up, after all. His magic took a while to recharge, but still less time than he’d expected; he was almost certain Death was helping him along. 

He ducked into a nearby alley and apparated again — to Nottingham, then Northampton. His magic was in shreds, barely holding on, but he made the final jump, straight into the kitchen of Grimmauld place. He knew that he was completely worn out, but he was too stressed to sleep, so he made a cup of tea and tried to collect his thoughts. The familiar motions calmed him — boiling the water, leaving the tea bag to steep, adding milk and half a teaspoon of sugar to sooth the sharp bitterness. He took a sip, breathing deeply, before frowning — there were voices coming from outside. 

“—his infuriating personality — or perhaps because of it — I fell in love with him. And now he’s _gone,_ and I will _never_ forgive him for that.” Harry reached the door just as Draco opened his eyes, and immediately dropped his tea cup, surging forwards and throwing his arms around Draco.

Draco didn’t return the hug, but his muscles were relaxed beneath Harry. He pulled away, looking at Draco, who was staring blankly at Harry.

“I’m hallucinating.” He looked up at someone behind Harry — Harry turned to see Hermione, Ron, Remus and Severus, all with expressions of shock. Harry kind of wished he had a camera, if only to capture such an open expression on Severus’ face.

“I’m hallucinating, right, guys? Harry’s not standing in front of me. He can’t be.” Draco said from behind Harry, his voice getting quieter. Harry turned again, and grabbed Draco’s face with both hands. 

“I’m really here. It’s…a weird story.”

Draco reached up tentatively, delicately wrapping his hands around Harry’s wrists, as if he was scared Harry would disappear. “Harry?”

Harry nodded.

Draco threw his arms around Harry, squeezing him so tightly Harry couldn’t breathe. He then held Harry at arms length in a way that reminded Harry of Molly Weasley, a critical eye running down Harry. Harry responded in kind; he looked like shit, but his eyes were bright, and his mouth was stretched in an unshakable grin; until he spotted Harry’s t–shirt, still tied around his leg. 

“You’re injured.”

“Minor splinch. It’s really not that bad.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, but let Harry’s shoulders go just in time for Hermione to hug him. Harry felt a second pair of arms wrap around them — Ron —who then shouted “are the rest of you lot coming?”

Then they were all hugging and crying in the back garden of Grimmauld place, with the hope that maybe, they would all get through this after all.

* * *

Harry briefly summarised what had happened to him, while he made tea for everyone. He only left out the part where he saw Sirius; that felt like something only him and Remus should know. 

“So you’re definitely not a horcrux, now?” Severus asked, and Harry nodded.

“You mean Draco’s stupid plan of _killing you_ worked?” Ron exclaimed, Hermione wincing slightly.

“It was _his_ plan!” Draco protested.

Hermione peered at Harry. “Did you hit your head while fighting Voldemort? Brain damage sounds like a real possibility.”

“Speaking of damage,” Remus cut in, preventing Harry from assuring Hermione that his plan was very logical, thank you very much, “we should probably check for any unseen injuries.”

“Oh, I definitely don’t have any injuries apart from the splinch. I think Death healed me.”

“Maybe he _does_ have brain damage,” Ron muttered.

“I don’t know, it sounds like standard Potter stupidity to me,” Draco replied. Harry glared at him over his shoulder.

Draco insisted on checking Harry’s magical core, which Severus decreed was fully healed — but was also smaller than he was expecting. Harry frowned — the ball of magic was about the size of a basketball, which he thought was very respectable (and it’s about how you use it anyway, right?), though one thing was missing.

That shimmering, iridescent white thread that had led to Draco had disappeared, and there was a tiny, black spot on Harry’s magic.

“Well, Harry, one would assume that when you were dead, the bond was broken. Since there isn’t much — if any — documentation about such a bond, never mind someone coming back to life, we don’t really know what it’s supposed to mean. We should take you St. Mungos, but—”

“Voldemort comes first. We are going to Malfoy Manor, and we are going to kill that bastard.” Harry was surprised at how authoritative his voice was, but at least everyone listened to him.

“How do you know he’s at Malfoy Manor?” _Almost_ everyone.

“Draco, have I been wrong yet?”

Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry, and Harry could almost hear him say _Godric’s Hollow._

“Well, where else is he going to go?”

“We might as well have a look,” Hermione pointed out.

“That’s what we said about Godric’s Hollow”, Draco grumbled.

* * *

Just before Harry went upstairs, he pulled Remus aside. 

Remus frowned — what was this about? He’d recounted his story in the dining room — he’d seen Death, who’d informed him of things, and then he’d been essentially booted out of the afterlife and woken up in the forest.

Harry cast a _muffliato_ , before speaking.

“I didn’t tell you everything about the afterlife. There was one thing that I wanted to keep private, but…you need to know.”

Remus’ heart stuttered, especially as tears started to fill Harry’s eyes. “What is it?”

“I saw Sirius.”

“You — you saw—” Never mind stuttering, Remus was pretty sure his heart had stopped dead. _Sirius._

Harry nodded, wiping away a tear that had started to run down his cheek. “And he asked me — he asked me to tell you that he loves you.”

Remus started to cry as well, an old ache resurfacing in his chest. He’d be able to see Sirius again, one day — and Sirius still loved him. 

Remus grabbed Harry hugged him tightly, squeezing his eyes shut to try to prevent any more tears from slipping out. 

“I’m sorry there isn’t any more, but I had to leave — time runs differently there.”

“It’s okay, Harry. You’ve given me the greatest gift possible.”

Harry pulled back to look at Remus with one raised eyebrow.

Remus rolled his eyes and smiled softly. “Go to sleep, pup.”

* * *

Harry hesitated just outside his bedroom door, a tight knot of stress twisting in his chest. 

What if Draco didn’t want to see him? He hadn’t taken well to Harry putting himself in dangerous situations before, and now Harry had made Draco literally _kill_ him. Perhaps seeing Harry wouldn’t bring up any good reactions — Harry knew all about PTSD, at this point — and since Harry didn’t have to stay close to Draco anymore, perhaps he wanted to stay in separate rooms. He probably didn’t return Harry’s feelings, anyway. Maybe one–sided true love was enough to break the effects of the potion.

Harry took a deep breath, and opened the door.

“Harry!”

Draco crossed the room in a few long strides, trapping Harry between him and the wall. He brought a hand up, holding it a couple of centimetres away from Harry’s face. “I still can’t believe it’s really you.”

“Well, it is. Got all my limbs and everything.”

Draco moved his hand and brushed a bit of hair that had drifted over Harry’s eye, and tilted his head slightly. He looked as beautiful as ever — all high cheekbones and silver eyes and slightly parted lips.

 _This isn’t going to end well,_ Harry thought, before closing the distance between them and kissing Draco. It was hardly more than a brush of lips, but Harry felt it all through his body, sparks dancing down his spine at the contact.

 _Shit._ Harry thought, as Draco stared at him, lips still slightly parted.

“Sorry, I — I have no reason to have done that other than I really like you, and you probably want me to leave, which can be arranged, I’ll just open this door and head right ou—”

“Shut up,” Draco whispered, grabbing Harry’s head with both hands and pinning him against the wall, one leg between Harry’s, and _Draco’s lips were on Harry’s and Harry might just combust right there—_

Harry eagerly kissed back, opening his mouth slightly to suck on Draco’s lower lip, running his hands up Draco’s back and feeling all the toned muscle, before pulling him close until Draco was all he could feel, all he was.

Draco moaned slightly, slipping his tongue inside Harry’s mouth and running one hand through Harry’s hair, the other lowering to rest on Harry’s waist. Harry felt every touch like a flicker of fire, skin burning at every feather–light touch.

Draco broke away, and Harry let out an embarrassingly high–pitched whine.

“We do need to talk, you know.” Draco said.

_“Now?”_

Draco sighed. “Probably not, since you’re dead on your feet — you’re really not hiding it as well as you think — and I am too. But soon.”

“I am _not_ that tired.” He certainly didn’t _feel_ tired.

“Really?” Draco crossed his arms and stepped back, one eyebrow raised. Harry took a step forward, and the room pitched to the side, before Draco caught him with one strong hand. “You’re _swooning._ Like a muggle cartoon.”

“I am _not._ Prat.”

Draco laughed, a fond look on his face, and half–carried Harry to bed, gently tucking Harry in. Harry knew he was blushing, but he couldn’t bring himself to complain; not when Draco was looking at him like _that._

Draco smiled softly, and pressed a small kiss to Harry’s forehead. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Harry was asleep before Draco walked out of the room.

* * *

The revenge plot was pretty simple, as far as plots for revenge went. 

It consisted of three parts:

  1. Break into Malfoy Manor; considering they had two Malfoys with them, not an issue.
  2. Kill Nagini; slightly more difficult, especially since Harry didn’t have his horcrux sense anymore, but she was probably wherever Voldemort was, and Voldemort was in Malfoy Manor.
  3. Kill Voldemort.



Draco presented the plan, Harry supported it, and Hermione rolled her eyes before saying “he is only one man, after all; what could he possibly do?”

Thanks to Narcissa’s connection to the wards on the Manor, she knew Voldemort was the only living person in there, but the wards couldn’t detect any inferi; in any case, they were nothing a bit of fire couldn’t handle.

They took a small infiltration group; the residents of Grimmauld place, as well as Narcissa, Bill Weasley (in case there were any extra wards to remove), and the Weasley twins (who brought a veritable armoury of pranks from their shop). Once Ginny caught wind that Narcissa had given them free reign to destroy her house, she insisted that she come along, and then Percy had protested that he, too, was a Weasley, and should ‘participate in any shenanigans that were to take place’.

Narcissa and Bill discreetly removed the wards at a back entrance, and all the Weasleys crept across the lawn. The plan was for them to look for the snake while causing general chaos across the grounds.

Harry, Hermione, Draco, Severus, Remus and Narcissa all went into the Manor, looking for Voldemort. It was surprisingly easy; he was _moping_ in his bedroom.

They walked in on the Dark Lord _moping._

“Would you be willing to surrender, perchance?” Harry asked.

 _“You.”_ Voldemort hissed.

Harry sighed and raised the Elder Wand — that was a no.

* * *

Voldemort had been diligently plotting how to lure Potter to Malfoy Manor when he, along with his little friends, had simply _strolled_ into his room. 

One does not simply _stroll_ into the Dark Lord’s bedroom.

Except apparently, Harry Potter did — and then he had the _nerve_ to ask him to surrender!

 _That_ wasn’t happening; he was back with his old, yew wand, which did serve him better, even if it made his magic feel weaker, after Dumbledore’s wand. A quick flick of his wand had the inferi he’d hidden pouring out into the hallway, which was too narrow for any sort of fire to be used without the risk of hurting allies. He ordered them to attack all but him and Potter — Potter was _his._

He unleashed spell upon spell on the boy, who struggled to defend them in the enclosed space of the bedroom. He had nowhere to hide — and he couldn’t dodge or move without exposing his friends’ back to Voldemort, who were all fighting the inferi.

Friends. Voldemort had wished for them deeply, at a time, but he saw them for what they were, now; a weakness. 

He applied pressure to that weakness, firing dark spells that slowly tore through Potter’s shields, until his body was all that was protecting his friends, free for Voldemort to injure. Potter was bleeding from several wounds — on his neck, his arms, his thigh — when he moved.

Potter stumbled backwards, leaning heavily against the wall, blood pooling on the floor. Voldemort smirked and took steps forward, deflecting spells with easy flicks of his wand.

_Light magic doesn’t win the War, Potter._

* * *

The Weasleys had broken off into two groups to cover the grounds quicker; Fred, George, and Percy had gone one way, and Bill, Ron, and Ginny had gone the other. The scent of blood was strong, even though the ground was bare, with only the occasional snowdrop peeking through the damp dirt.

“How many people did he murder here?” Ginny wondered out loud, as they walked over limestone paths that were now decorated with dark red stains.

“All of them, apparently. What’s weird is the lack of bodies,” Bill replied.

“Odds on there being inferi?” Ron muttered. 

The three siblings shuddered. 

_“Imagus scerelisque*,”_ Bill said, flicking his wand, before squinting across the grounds.

Ron raised an eyebrow. “What did that do?”

“Thermal imaging charm. It won’t show us inferi, and usually doesn’t show reptiles, since they’re cold blooded, but Nagini is a _Python Ophiophagus**,_ which means she needs to be kept at a temperature of at least twenty–five degrees. It’s around five degrees here, so it shows up on the charm — and there’s a random ball of warmth up that way.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows, impressed. “Well, let’s go kill us a snake.”

“Easier said than done.” Ron scoffed, before following them across the muddy grounds and snorting slightly at the various explosions coming from the opposite end of the grounds. Apparently Percy and the twins were doing their jobs.

* * *

Nagini turned out to be hiding in a rather dilapidated shed. 

“Should we grab the others? For…y’know, backup and stuff?” Ron asked.

His two siblings both gave him identical looks that said _‘really?’_ before walking into the shed. 

Nagini was in a levitating ball about a metre above the ground, and appeared to be asleep. No alarms went off; no inferi burst out of the walls.

Ginny cleared her throat. “Okay, so, Bill, you get rid of the floaty–ball–thing, and I’ll _diffindo_ her head off. Problem solved.”

“I don’t think you can _diffindo_ a horcrux—” Ron started, but Bill was already casting, and the ball flickered a few times before depositing Nagini on the floor, who hissed and lunged. Bill dove out of the way and Ginny cast _diffindo_ , which caused a laceration in Nagini’s scales, but didn’t seem to do anything other than enrage her.

“For _fucks_ sake — _sectumsempra!”_ Ron shouted, and another deep cut appeared on Nagini’s body; but the snake was still hissing and lunging towards them. She landed a bite on Bill, who collapsed in the corner.

 _“Not my brother!”_ Ginny screamed, advancing on the snake and casting spell after spell. Chunks of wood flew around as some of her spells went wide, but she managed to distract the snake long enough for Ron to grab Bill and get him out of the shed. 

_“Diffindo the snake._ Great plan.” Ron muttered, his face drawn and pale.

“I’m fine, really! Just need to get this poison out…”

“We need Severus, he probably has a dozen antidotes for this. Just stay awake, you _git.”_

Bill chuckled weakly, his face growing paler by the second. Ron prayed desperately that super strength and healing had been passed on to him from Greyback’s attack — they needed as much time as possible.

 _“Ginny!_ Get _out!”_ Ron yelled, and Ginny immediately came sprinting out, several metres of snake close behind. She shot a couple of spells behind, which enraged the snake, but its several bleeding wounds did not seem to hinder its movement much, if at all. 

Ron watched with horror as she continued to sprint across the grass, close to the woodland that bordered the trees. He sprinted after, casting spells at the snake, but Ginner had worked it up into a frenzy, and it had a single minded mission to end her. 

Ron watched in horror as Ginny tripped over a tree root, and time slowed.

Ginny rolled across the dirt, but misjudged, and slammed into a tree. 

Nagini was a few seconds away from striking. 

Ron was too far away to do anything.

Ron was too far…but Percy and the twins weren’t. 

They sprinted out of the trees, and Percy cut off Nagini’s head with a _muggle sword._

 _“WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK?”_ Ron yelled.

Percy shrugged. “I found it when I was looking for Nagini. It said Gryffindor on it, so I took it.”

“You found a _sword.”_

“Yes.”

Ron turned on the twins. “You let _Percy_ swing a sword around?”

Fred shrugged. “We wanted to see what would happen.”

“He’s the ‘responsible’ one, after all,” George said, and, well, maybe he had a point, Ron had to admit.

“Alright, well, that’s done.” A bit of an understatement, but Ron really had other priorities. He started running back, shouting over his shoulder, “now come on, we need to take Bill to Severus, he been bitten.” 

* * *

Harry felt as powerless as he had been in the dungeon. 

Perhaps not _entirely_ powerless; if all of Voldemort’s attention was on him, his friends could get out. The sounds of their battle were getting further away, which meant they’d be able to get out. 

“I don’t know how you ever thought you could win against _me,”_ Voldemort said.

“Well, there was the whole Chosen One thing. And that prophecy.” Harry’s words felt distant; he might as well already be under the Manor, walls closing in, bars slamming shut over the door. It was just him and Voldemort; except this time, there was nothing stopping Voldemort from killing him.

Voldemort scoffed. “Dumbledore really taught you nothing, did he? Dark magic is inherently more powerful than light, because you have to _mean_ it. Without utilizing it, your plight was doomed from the start.”

 _Doomed from the start._ That’s all Harry’s life had been. He’d been raised, only to be killed.

A voice that sounded an awful lot like Sirius spoke in the back of his mind.

 _“You’re not dead yet, Harry._ _Live_ _.”_

He took a deep breath, trying to remember what Death had taught him, in the final moments before he’d come back.

_“You have the power of Death, Harry Potter. That means you can gift it, and you can take it away. You can harm, and you can heal. You can summon, and you can banish. You can reverse dark magic, amplify the light. And all the opposite, if you wish.”_

_“Well that’s clear. Very specific.”_

_“You’ll know when you need to.”_

_“Yeah, I’m just going to go before I punch you in the face.”_

_Reverse. Amplify._

Harry reached out to the tendrils of magic that were rippling around his cuts and eased them away, leeching the dark away to leave the light, the uncorrupted power Voldemort had thrown at him under ghastly packaging.

One by one, his cuts closed, and _healed,_ not even leaving a scar.

_“What.”_

“No, no, do continue your rant,” Harry said, smirking.

Voldemort’s eye twitched, and he sent another barrage of spells at Harry. Rather than fight back, he absorbed the power, banishing the darkness. Then, he slowly breathed out, sending bright diamonds, sharper than knives, shooting towards Voldemort.

He dismissed most of them with a flick of his wand, but a couple of them landed, blood so dark it looked black leaking from the wounds.

 _“How dare you,”_ Voldemort hissed, stalking forwards, before doubling over, and loosing a terrible scream. _“Nagini!”_

“No more horcruxes, Tom.” 

Voldemort straightened and snarled. “I can beat you regardless.”

“You sure of that?” Harry closed his eyes again, and pulled on his magic, holding his hands perpendicular to his body, palms facing upwards. The Elder wand was already in his right hand, and the resurrection stone appeared in his left, the cloak appearing around his shoulders and flowing back in an invisible breeze.

“Who — _what are you?”_

“The Master of Death,” Harry said simply, before unleashing a wave of power on Voldemort. To his credit, he really tried, but you can’t really fight with the raw power of Death.

Harry grimaced at the corpse on the floor — it was a bit anticlimactic, in his opinion, but he wasn’t complaining — and nudged it with his shoe, before swaying slightly; he didn’t have an ounce of power left. 

Harry’s friends had travelled a bit down the hall, and Harry dragged himself over. 

“Voldemort’s dead.”

Hermione turned to see him, but instead of the happy expression Harry had expected, her face was drawn and all blood leached from her his skin.

“Hermione? What — what’s happened?” His gaze flicked around the group — all the adults were standing, but Draco—

_Draco—_

“I tried to make him wait, Harry, but he tried to take on too many at once, and we were too late—”

“No. _No.”_ Draco was on the floor, in a huge pool of blood, and his skin was as white as paper. He had deep scratches across his face, and bite marks all down his arms and torso, huge chunks of skin ripped out to reveal muscle and bone, spurts of blood squirting rhythmically, weaker than they should have been. “Draco, you _fucking idiot.”_

“Hey, Harry. Did we win?” Draco smiled weakly.

“Yes. Yes, you complete and utter prat, we won. And you are _not_ dying on me.” He couldn’t. After all they’d been through, he couldn’t _leave._ Harry pressed his fingers to Draco’s pulse, which was barely there.

“I don’t think you can control that.” Draco’s voice was barely a whisper.

“I can and I will.” Harry growled. Death had said that he could reverse this, right? 

Harry reached forward, trying to find Draco’s magic, his soul. It was barely there; a small, delicate thing, fading slowly. Harry tried to capture it, to wrap it with his magic, but it had been completely drained.

Harry shouted, “ _Death! DEATH!”_

“Yes, master?” Death appeared, floating above Draco, in long, flowing, black robes.

“Heal him.”

“It’s really not that simple…”

“I don’t have anything left. _Heal him._ I’ll — I’ll do anything.”

Death sighed deeply. “There’s one thing, but it’s…risky. And there are consequences.”

“I’ll pay them. I’ll do whatever, just…he _cannot_ die."

“I’m obligated to at least tell you what you’re agreeing to, in any case.” 

Harry huffed and pulled Draco closer to his chest, but nodded at Death, because he couldn’t really do anything else, could he? Every second was precious.

“You remember how you had that link? Well, I can reform it, which will drain almost all of your remaining magic to bring Draco back from the brink of death. The bond will be significantly stronger, so you need to be sure that you want to spend the rest of your life with Draco, because you can’t go too far apart for long periods of time without the bond straining — and if it breaks, Draco will die. Additionally, whenever Draco is injured, you will feel a large drain on your magic, and whenever you’re injured or drain your magic, Draco will feel the same amount of pain, and will probably lose some movement, depending. Essentially, your magic will be sustaining Draco — and when you pass, he will pass too.”

Harry looked down at Draco’s face again, feeling his pulse stop for a couple of beats, before continuing beneath Harry’s fingertips. Should he try to give Draco a choice? Is Draco as willing to spend his life with Harry as Harry is?

There was no time to ask that. Draco’s pulse kept missing beats, getting weaker by the second. 

He nodded. “Do it.”

Even though he didn’t think he had anything left, his magic left his body, reaching out to Draco, and Harry doubled over in pain. He took deep breaths, and distantly, someone held his shoulders, tried to talk to him; but all he could feel was Draco’s pulse, still getting weaker, even as Harry’s magic drained to dregs, the bond asking for magic Harry couldn’t deliver.

Draco’s pulse stopped.

“No. _NO!_ Take it, take what you need, just don’t die, come back, come back to me Draco,” Harry screamed, cradling Draco’s body. _Come back, come back, come back._

Draco took a breath, and his pulse restarted.

Harry held his breath; had he imagined it?

No; there was Draco’s pulse, a strong, pounding drum against the overwhelming fear and sorrow; his chest rose and fell with even breaths; his eyes were open and staring at Harry.

“Draco. _Draco.”_ Draco’s name was a prayer on Harry’s lips as he lowered himself, pressed his forehead against Draco’s.

Draco kissed him, and it was a promise.

A promise for a future.

 _“Don’t you dare do that again,”_ Harry whispered against Draco’s lips.

“What, die? I don’t intend to, no. How am I here?”

“Well, I may have…sort of…made a deal with Death.”

“With _Death?”_

“They’re pretty chill!” Harry protested, and Draco was in his arms, laughing, and _alive._

“Harry, what the _fuck_ just happened?” Hermione asked from behind him, and, right, he’d forgotten he had an audience.

“Erm, basically, I made a deal with Death and now me and Draco are bonded again.”

“A deal with _Death?”_ Ron shouted as Hermione muttered “Draco and _I.”_

“Ron!” Harry jumped up and hugged Ron. “Are all of you okay?”

“Yep, well…Bill got bitten by Nagini, but Severus gave him the antidote, so we’re all good.”

“So…we’re all alive?”

Ron nodded, a huge grin on his face. 

Harry pulled Draco up into a hug, and kissed him again. “We did it.”

Draco smiled against his lips. “That, we did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *imago scelerisque is latin for thermal image, I changed it slightly.
> 
> **okay so, in canon Nagini was supposed to be modelled after a Burmese Python, except they're not venomous. The largest venomous snake is the King Cobra, aka Ophiophagus hannah — so I mashed the names together make a new breed of snake, Python ophiophagus (Python is technically the genus, which according to taxonomy comes first) (yes ophiophagus is the genus of the king cobra but I'm lazy lmao)


	16. Chapter 16

**Six months later**

“We’re here!”

Bright light blinded Harry as Draco removed the spell keeping the cloth bound around Harry’s eyes. It took him a couple of moments before he realised where he was; Godric’s Hollow.

“What are we doing back here, love?”

“Well, our last visit was cut short. And you deserve proper closure, and to go into your parents’ house, without… _distractions._ I’ve got all the paperwork from the ministry — you can officially enter the property.”

Harry’s heart stuttered. “I — I don’t know what to say.”

Draco gently kissed Harry. “A thank you would be nice,” he murmured against his lips.

Harry laughed softly. “Thank you, darling.”

Draco flushed at the pet name, and Harry grinned, before planting a huge, wet kiss on Draco’s flaming cheek.

He took in the market around him — there was still the butcher’s shop and the florist’s cart, the small corner shop with sweet jars displayed in the windows. After a moment, he dug out some coins from his pocket and picked out a small bouquet of lilies.

“Can we go visit their graves first?”

Draco wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist. “Of course.” 

They walked to the graves in companionable silence, hand in hand. The bright, summer sunshine made it a much nicer walk, with yellow dandelions and buttercups springing up in the lush, green grass. 

Harry knelt at his parents’ grave, gently setting the lilies in front of the tombstone. “Hi, mum, dad. I guess it’s been a while. The war is over now; for real, this time. We killed Voldemort back in January, which meant a shit tonne of government stuff. This is my first day off in a while, which is a bit rubbish because I saved the wizarding world — surely I should be allowed a few more days off, right?” Harry chuckled slightly, wiping at the tears already starting to run down his face. “I’m dating someone, now — Draco Malfoy. I guess you knew his father, but know that he’s nothing like him. Absolutely wonderful — the complete opposite, really. I think you would like him. 

“I’m not going to actually see you for…a long while, I hope. We’re going to the house now, though; I don’t know what I’m going to do there, but it’ll be nice to see it.” Harry felt the Stone appear in his pocket and frowned slightly, willing it away. It appeared when he was at his most vulnerable; he’d only given into the temptation once. “I know you’ll be there in spirit — I don’t need some stone to feel it. Love you.”

Harry wiped his eyes again and gently patted the tombstone, before standing. “Ready?”

Draco pulled Harry into his side and pressed a kiss to his temple. “For you, always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay, that took…a while. Thank you all for reading!!
> 
> I wrote a little [Wolfstar epilogue](https://huffinglepuff.tumblr.com/post/640874948196466688/this-takes-place-around-20-years-after-my-drarry) on tumblr, if you want to read that :)
> 
> I definitely think there are some more things that could be explored in this AU, and I may eventually do that, but I really don't know at the moment. I also don't plan on doing anything this big for a while; at least until after all my grades have been submitted (still don't know what's going on with the A-levels, but anyway).
> 
> I hope everyone's staying safe! <33

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr!](https://huffinglepuff.tumblr.com/)


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